Fabula Ferae
(Fierce Stories)
Stand back, boy
Croton said
and he heaved
Up went the whole
damn cart
onto sawhorses
He kept it from tipping
while I wedged the wheel
and went for the tongs
Then brought
the molten
iron patch
It was easy to see
the wheel-rim’s broken
metal circle
while Croton grinned
at Drusus
(my new bellows-boy)
The lad obeyed
keeping his distance
while we madmen worked
He tried to be useful
by holding Castor’s collar
so the dog wouldn’t get in our way
Of course Castor
was smarter
than the boy
and didn’t need
no warning
nor to be held
But what of it?
Kept ‘em both
out of our hair
Drusus goggled
at the sight of the old fighter
and his muscles
Croton was happy
to show off
Not much excitement
in being an advocate’s
heavy hand,
these days
I hammered
Croton sweated
Boy and dog watched
All right let go, I said
Because the iron would need
to cool and tighten on its own
Croton gave
a mighty grunt
and relaxed
My grunt was relief
The cart
stayed put on the horses
Sir you’re so strong sir
The lad thought
it was Hercules, for sure
That’s nothing, boy
Once, in the Circus Maximus
I tipped a chariot
That’s how I got this scar
He pointed to a mean one
on his chest
The damn chariot wheel
was spiked
Got me some blooding, that day
He sat himself down
and scooped a handful
of water from the bucket
Gulped it down,
and grinned again
Every scar’s got its tale
What about you master
Drusus looked at me
That’s a fierce one on your shoulder
This?
Cacat, no arenas, for me
Got it when I was no older than you
Remember Sulla, Croton?
Our fine dictator
after the civil war
I was just a pissant
My tata was smithy-master
Remember, Croton, those days?
Bastard, bastard
Croton spat
Called him Felix, they did
Lucky One, that’s right, I said
But my tata called him
Dis Pater, Father Wealth, Lord of Hell
You’re the lucky one, Drusus boy
Croton warmed to the subject
No dictators these days
I rubbed my scar
It never hurt, any more
except in memory
When Sulla posted the proscriptions
Enemies of the State
and the city ran redder than the Circus
our landlord
was on the list
Sulla wanted his properties
He was no Optimate,
but no one deserved
what he got
Ran into the smithy
to try and hide
Subura thugs got him
Did you fight them?
Drusus asked, eyes wide
You and your tata?
No, boy
We had our asses whipped
If you want the truth
My shoulder?
An accident
They pushed me into the scrap iron
While my tata pulled me out
they took our landlord’s head
to collect the bounty
I glanced at little Drusus
who looked green in the gills
Probably shouldn’t have told him that
But truth is truth
Those
were bad times
Croton went back to grinning
I hear the worms ate Sulla’s guts
he said, Some luck, that
Drusus hugged Castor tight
and the dog didn’t even growl
Kinder, than us old tellers of tales
The dog
had his own scars
but kept them to himself
___________________________________
Return to Ferrum Table of Contents
_______________________________________
Click here to view next poem: Vulcan
_______________________________________
_______________________________________
(Fierce Stories)
Stand back, boy
Croton said
and he heaved
Up went the whole
damn cart
onto sawhorses
He kept it from tipping
while I wedged the wheel
and went for the tongs
Then brought
the molten
iron patch
It was easy to see
the wheel-rim’s broken
metal circle
while Croton grinned
at Drusus
(my new bellows-boy)
The lad obeyed
keeping his distance
while we madmen worked
He tried to be useful
by holding Castor’s collar
so the dog wouldn’t get in our way
Of course Castor
was smarter
than the boy
and didn’t need
no warning
nor to be held
But what of it?
Kept ‘em both
out of our hair
Drusus goggled
at the sight of the old fighter
and his muscles
Croton was happy
to show off
Not much excitement
in being an advocate’s
heavy hand,
these days
I hammered
Croton sweated
Boy and dog watched
All right let go, I said
Because the iron would need
to cool and tighten on its own
Croton gave
a mighty grunt
and relaxed
My grunt was relief
The cart
stayed put on the horses
Sir you’re so strong sir
The lad thought
it was Hercules, for sure
That’s nothing, boy
Once, in the Circus Maximus
I tipped a chariot
That’s how I got this scar
He pointed to a mean one
on his chest
The damn chariot wheel
was spiked
Got me some blooding, that day
He sat himself down
and scooped a handful
of water from the bucket
Gulped it down,
and grinned again
Every scar’s got its tale
What about you master
Drusus looked at me
That’s a fierce one on your shoulder
This?
Cacat, no arenas, for me
Got it when I was no older than you
Remember Sulla, Croton?
Our fine dictator
after the civil war
I was just a pissant
My tata was smithy-master
Remember, Croton, those days?
Bastard, bastard
Croton spat
Called him Felix, they did
Lucky One, that’s right, I said
But my tata called him
Dis Pater, Father Wealth, Lord of Hell
You’re the lucky one, Drusus boy
Croton warmed to the subject
No dictators these days
I rubbed my scar
It never hurt, any more
except in memory
When Sulla posted the proscriptions
Enemies of the State
and the city ran redder than the Circus
our landlord
was on the list
Sulla wanted his properties
He was no Optimate,
but no one deserved
what he got
Ran into the smithy
to try and hide
Subura thugs got him
Did you fight them?
Drusus asked, eyes wide
You and your tata?
No, boy
We had our asses whipped
If you want the truth
My shoulder?
An accident
They pushed me into the scrap iron
While my tata pulled me out
they took our landlord’s head
to collect the bounty
I glanced at little Drusus
who looked green in the gills
Probably shouldn’t have told him that
But truth is truth
Those
were bad times
Croton went back to grinning
I hear the worms ate Sulla’s guts
he said, Some luck, that
Drusus hugged Castor tight
and the dog didn’t even growl
Kinder, than us old tellers of tales
The dog
had his own scars
but kept them to himself
___________________________________
Return to Ferrum Table of Contents
_______________________________________
Click here to view next poem: Vulcan
_______________________________________
_______________________________________