The Gladiator

In the pinkish hue of a foggy dawn
urban skeletal structures rise up
to touch the sky, a modern day
amphitheater, akin to the Colosseum.

You may wonder how I got here.
Did I crawl, fly, shimmy up this
thin antiquated structure?
Was I lowered from above?
Never mind, in a few minutes,
deeper questions may emerge.
Besides there is no way down,
no stairs and no rope. I may be
a wingnut, but I have no wings.

Up here the air is thin and I can
see for as far as the fog will let me.
I’m at ease, nonchalant, standing
here at the top of a narrow platform,
overlooking the early bird ants down
below. Where I stand, there is
only room enough for one.

From this vantage point, and at
this hour, I have never felt so alone.
It is like being on top of the world,
all sexed up, but with no one
to touch or be touched by.
Never mind, there is no going back.

The Gladiator

There is a piece of me that feels
exalted, for once I know what
I want to do. I want to be of service,
and I’m waiting, waiting for the Gods
to make an indication, any sign will do.

The smart phone I’m holding can do
most anything I ask it to. It talks to me,
sometimes, making jokes. It helps
to ease the tension. It can send hundreds
of messages at once, or it can detonate a bomb.
Just now I’m waiting for a message, coded
green or red, go or no go. The situation
demands spectacle. Am I a terrorist?
No, no—I’m a gladiator.