OUT OF OCEANUS
When your three ships rose out of Oceanus,
I wished my worst nightmare had come true,
Because the monsters I imagined
Were lambs compared to you.
Two legions from Louron
Marched under Sertorious,
So desperate Sulla was,
To the Iberian coast,
Only to have their hearts
Ripped into a thousand parts,
Targets for your exploding darts:
Not an inch would they yield
To mail, courage, or shield.
At dawn we watched,
Hidden among the rocks,
Your line of bronze-plated infantry,
With yellow-feathered helmets, motionlessly
Crouching along the shore,
Facing our legions across the sand,
A black cylinder held in each copper hand.
Your three ships pivoted parallel to the line,
Three magnificent white sails emblazoned with
The savage cat you venerate,
Forepaw and neck reaching for Saturn’s crown,
Hide of orange spots ringed in brown,
The hungry Chavin god of war
Clawing at the Republic’s door.
Three successive, thunderous blasts from each ship’s deck
A plume of smoke, thunder, three clusters of darts
Flew faster than the eye could track,
Above your motionless men and fanned apart
Plunging directly into the hearts
Of our helpless legionnaires,
Delivering them from this beach,
Made at once bloody and barren,
Into the waiting, gnarled hands of Charon.
We watched you stripped every body
Of weapons and dignity,
Living no longer at our liberty,
As the sun sank into Oceanus.
All at once, deep into the night,
Your ships spat smoke into the sky,
Smoke that turned bright,
Spraying dots of yellow light against the night.
Afraid to move we watched until dawn,
When your fleet one mile long,
Under a favorable breeze,
Past the Pillar of Hercules,
Skimmed steadily eastward bound,
Following the Oceanus coast,
Without pity or the faintest sound,
Heading for Rome, we supposed.
Chavin invaders prowl everywhere,
Mauling here, mangling there.
Eastward gazing,
An orange obelisk,
A towering jaguar-snake-man, guards the shore,
Marks territory Roman before.
Into Oceanus pour rivers of Roman tears,
Dart blasters held in each Chavin hand
Obliterate anyone who interferes
With the Chavin conquest plan.
A maniacal shaman with shaven head,
Plait to one side, bloody red,
Face painted like a jaguar’s hide,
Binds our children and has them
Shredded by jaguars in a makeshift coliseum.
When the screaming ends, a fire is lit,
Ashes flung into Oceanus at the shaman’s decree,
Sacrificed to some Chavin god beneath the sea.
Reports say Chavin nobles occupy the Forum,
Roman senators are systematically slaughtered,
Without an ounce of Roman decorum,
Roman blood turns the Tiber red,
Rome is finished, Rome is dead.
Somehow staying hidden close the cape,
We have carefully prepared a desperate escape.
Our fishing boat filled with family and fear
Will make for Jaffa at last, tonight,
When Luna commands the moon to disappear
Above Oceanus, casting no light.
Hasmonean Judea is our distant destination,
Oceanus’s endpoint, our hope for salvation,
Where intractable religious zealots forever contend
With inflamed wills that never bend,
Less suited for Chavin ambitions
Than for a legion of patient logicians.
There is even talk of a Deliverer there,
A Liberator, a King,
A Final Judge infallibly fair.
I will seek him out,
Beg him to end this rout,
To send the Chavin home
And resurrect the glory of Rome.
