Roman: Romaine :: Human:

Antony orates for ravenous Rome
aware that even rare meat of Caesar
never preserves a dear taste from the tomb.
His leafy words strike a salad pleaser.
Speech disintegrates—livers swell their fill
my sorrow pounding beneath a dunghill
refusing parsley’s thyme, sage’s rosemary
I ate deli tongue of Mark Antony.

And udders declare for the best afield
hoping nipple will wean away grim world.
But no, grass proclaims for both Atlantics
and I, pat as biological beef,
take Antony’s lips for their sorest truths:
two liars lost in the green of their grief.