Roman Whore Blues*

This is the end of the world. The rain is like a flood.
My lover’s in that city thirsty for wine and blood.

They brought me across to sodden Britannia
And here we met – he from Thrace, I from Mauretania.

In my dance bikini, with my callused feet,
I am the centurions’ favourite meat.

Life here is brutish, cold and sad.
So he went to be famous in Rome, or dead.

Again, they’ll throw him to tigers and men.
If he dies, I’ll never laugh again.

And then I’ll die too, and be buried without stone.
Words and stones are for the rich alone.

On this bowl is our story. I’ll bury it later.
VERECUNDA ACTRESS LUCIUS GLADIATOR.