The young Caesar trips before battle
We could see clearly from the boats,
across the shimmering blue water,
no way he could hide the fact—
how his ankle twisted, knee and hand
spiriting groundward to catch him,
the hem of his robe dusting the African
sand that rushed into our hearts.
The newer men, not knowing him,
not knowing how history advances,
started the rerigging for our return.
But I remembered Gaul, the night
before we sailed for Brittanica—
a night they’ll omit from all history—
the stench of it—how mad we looked—
covered with lamb-blood by torchlight—
our knives parting throat after throat,
belly after belly, until we found
the organs that would sanction
his desire to conquer.
Michael J. Galko is a retired scientist and active poet who lives and works in Houston, TX. He was a finalist in the 2022 Bellevue Literary Review poetry contest and a recipient of a 2025 International Merit Award in poetry from Atlanta Review. Recent poems appear in Mudlark, Amethyst Review, Cafe Review, and Cagibi.
