OLD SCHOOL
Tacitus loved little vignettes
of men of high office
shrugging at death like a detail
to be handled expeditiously.
Typically, a house slave
would announce an armored soldier
delicately bearing a letter
saying Kill Yourself.
Often The Condemned would write a brief note,
praising his Emperor, expressing gratitude
for being allowed, in some small way,
to participate in the Glory That Was Rome.
Then he would die.
The Centurion would make it home for dinner.
Again and again, great men of the Principate
walked out of life like walking out of a room.
Tacitus never tires of it.
Each time, he savors the little silence
that was Rome, the end
without conclusion.