Outside The Gates.(The lament of an old dancer)

Broken by age
I lean upon my beechwood staff
Fearing to move.

The tradesmen creep by me
As though I were
A dying slave,
Fit food for the dogs.

They load my sack with bread and salt,
The few that dare acknowledge me;
I, who once served the mightiest of princes;
I, who savoured his presence like wine.

Now I am old,
Cast out like a leper.
Now I am mocked
By citizens and guards.
My once supple body
Arthritic,
Contorted,
I, who once graced the Emperor`s banquets,
Now cursed and reviled
By the Plebian throng.

I, who once graced the rarest of garments;
I, who once rode like a queen through the Forum,
Must kneel before scoundrels
In the squalor of markets;
I, who once roamed the slopes of Parnassus
Plucking the sweetest fruits of the grove.

And tonight
When at ease
Upon a couch sheaved in silver
Among lovers and courtiers
Who ply him with lies,
Will the great Lord of Rome remember my kisses,
My graceful young limbs invoking the dance?


Trevor John Karsavin Potter 
February 15th. - 22nd. 1975.
May 13th. - 14th. 2014.

Although this poem is set in Roman times, it could, with only slight changes, equally well fit conditions in the early 21st. Century, this time of cruel ageism and strident capitalism.