Rome in a Day
Rome sits on its seven haunches
And the pines, with fountains in their
branches,
Old road markers in the Appian sun,
Are stolid, green and well run.
A conservative morning begins with dawn
And makes its logical way as a pawn
Is moved one square at a time
To Noon. It seems all right, but I’m
Conscious of a skip in my heartbeat,
And the day pops like corn in the heat
Of a sudden three o’clock. The wrench
Of time ticks in my ears. I hunch
My watch into a shadow to hide
It’s face from the white glare.
Inside,
The gold hands turn green and catch
On the number six. I light a match
To see if they will stick there
As the fountains, with pines in their
sprays, share
Their fate, dwindle and dry in the
light
And Rome gets marching into the night.
Jack Wilson
