A Roman Soldier Reflects Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Not the Picts with their painted torsos
Not the head hunting Celts, either
Who wants to conquer a land
Where every bog breeds midges?

On Hadrian’s Wall it has rained for 20 days
Everything’s clammy and cold
The cough in my chest rattles

A wolf entered the consul’s villa last night
Drusilla is one child less
Nine months and her labour wasted

I am an important man, Marcus, the son of Gaius
Even you must have heard of me!
A thousand soldiers march when I give the word

At night I dream of olive groves and sun
But wake to the bleary mists
Of the Hell that is Caledonia

One day, my head may sit
On a Druid’s spike
A dripping gourd, sticky
With blood and flies