after Christopher Logue
“My mother says I have a choice:”
The world can do without my name.
Give me a happy backwoods: servants,
a palace, fleets, taxes, maybe a pet too;
a life well lived as any. Pride, I fear,
is pointless. There are no Kings, or Pawns,
only squares, and a limited number of moves.
Tell me mother: how long is everlasting?
Not long enough. Let Troy and Greece
fight on without me; no doubt they will. I,
on the other hand, once buried, shall fertilize
the green that grows around their ruins,
and like ivy choke their stones, until they crumble
and turn to sand.
Image by Alexandra Parsons