Caligula told his
troops that seashells
were the great spoils of a conquered ocean,
and for the sake of a sea-born sermon
he tied Rome's ships abreast to make a bridge
to ride the Bay of Naples on horseback.
Our own day is a drought of memory
where our Chieftain sinks the country's future
in the sand. Someone may find it one day,
puzzled by alibis we left behind
like love letters of sailors drowned at sea.
If you've any comments on
this poem, Jeffrey
Alfier would be pleased to hear from you.