These potholed roads all lead to Rome

Past the aquaduct-gap between two shops

And to the heart of the empire

Where I used to do laundry.

This car park sits on top of a legion

And I imagined the speed bumps were their graves

And fast cars were a reminder

Of the charging tribes.

My kitchen window had a view of the battle

Where the end was beginning

And somewhere a Caesar wept

While I buttered my toast.

I was hungover when Rome was burning

But it might have been a friend smoking

In the garden

And ashing on bronze coins.