Falling Gladiators Poem by Francie Lynch

Another gladiator fell
Watering the field in blood.
His head was sheathed,
He never cut through the net
That descended from the stands.
The iron-fisted trident
Brought thumbs up from the spectators
Indulging in the beer and nuts.
There are always some to be sacrificed
To placate the mob in the colosseum
Beneath the night lights on Mondays,
When Coke is the drink of victors,
And jerseys are sold to the trainees
Who now put on their spikes.
These are ours
Running headlong into the arena.