PROTECTING GIRL 47BC

ROMAN WOMEN AND THE SLAVE GIRL IN 47BC.

Aquila comes and visits
with her endless talk
about her husband
and his importance to Caesar,

where he goes
and what he does,
and Amy is nearby
looking and watching,

I see her jealous eyes on her,
and I feel prized and
loved and protected.
Aquila has airs and graces,

has that way
of tossing her head
and throwing out
her arms and hands;

but it is Amy I watch,
her my mind thinks of
as I talk with Aquila.
In the small spaces

Aquila allows me,
I talk of Marcus,
and what he does
and where he has gone,

(not far enough),
all the time my eyes
scan the room for Amy,
search her out if she

is gone too long.
Don't you trust her,
Aquila says,
that slave girl of yours?  

Up to mischief is she?
No I just like to know
where she is,
I say,

habit I suppose.
O Annona you are a one,
she says,
let them be,

slaves are what
they are,
the market is
full of them.

I listen to her voice
rattle on,
but it Amy
my mind is on,

her my mind's
thoughts dwell on,
taking in each gesture
of her hands,

crease of her face
for smile or frustration,
her attention to detail,
her eyes speaking

to me and her slight
nod of head to say
she understands.  
As Aquila talks

of her husband's
prowess in bed,
I think of Amy
and me and the love

and kisses and not
of Marcus and
his shafting,
but Amy there

in my bed,
she holding and kissing
and there at my side,
her breath on me,

her hands feeling
me in and out.
Aquila lies
on the coach,

her hand supporting
her head,
staring at me
as I talk about Marcus

(habit not love),
what he has achieved
(bored me),
and made my life (tedious).

She laughs like a hyena,
her spittle flies
from her mouth
when I express

something humorous,
detail a joke or reveal
about Marcus's shortfalls.
Amy is close,

waiting near,
her face expressionless,
her eyes searching me,
that slight wink

and I know all is well
with my slave,
my love,
my protecting girl.