“night at the colosseum”
fried snacks and oil from a greasy pan,
booze trapped in containers far from home,
at night the windows shine bright with light,
as he reads on but remembers none.
at the gymnasium he strives to meet,
an image captured in statues and ideals,
yet he destroys and he steals with a band of friends:
in a life of brattish violence.
he’ll never see the bigger picture,
a life beyond his home,
for in his heart he’ll always be
a hooligan from Rome.
Saint Ambrose was the first man
To read for himself
In years long ago,
There was a man just like me,
Lost in a great sea
Wintry mists away,
A lumbering beast awakens,
Greeting the sun with a yawn.