I am of course

a towering adonis

flaxen haired

high cheekboned

lantern jawed

stick thin

& special

in possibly a universe

or two over

I come from peasant stock

lucky enough

to have avoided transportation

for minor crimes

to sunnier climes

we wear our poverty

profound within our bones

the short legs

wide shoulders

of an eternal line

of labourers

existing between thin meals

skinnier wages

& the threat of eviction

that tribe

never holding a name

after the loss

by the roman invasion

demanding tithes


or the lash

Durotriges no more

end of the Deceangli

days of the clan

looking out for each other

now destined to be

proud citizens


to starve for pay

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