Rome

I thought you needed my help
waiting for my shining moment
to don armor, to mount steed,
to heroically jump in…

Don’t worry – I’ll let you know when.

I waited a long time to hear you ask
your eyes raised to mine
a brow in curled question
an honest second
of bit of hope
a word:
Help.

Don’t worry – I’ll let you know when.

I’ve worried myself into bitterness:
I wouldn’t spit on you now
if flame burst from your
head and hair.
I might even applaud
and yes, I would stare –
and if ever I could play fiddle,
I would, then and there.

Don’t worry – I’ll let you know when.