You recant
with the ease
of swatting a fly.

Under the harsh
stares of your company,

under the twin gazes
of the golden eagle
and Tiberius Caesar
‘s portrait bust,

the whole affair
becomes a dream.

I never said it,
and if I said it
I never meant it.

The gods are too busy
feasting and drinking
to spawn more kids.
Those days are dead
and gone, in Rome
and in Galilee.

Of course
I know this
as well as anybody.

Only that evening
when you begin scrubbing
your spear

do you notice:
the blood undried
will not come

off, nor the water
cease dripping
from tip down
to butt-spike,

steady
as the Tiber.

And though you say nothing
to anyone,
though you slip
into your bunk like
a thief in the night,

you are already chewing
your lip, asking
whether it’s too late

to recant
your recantation.

Cover Image: Longinus Pierces Christ’s Side, illumination from the Vaux Passional, unknown Middle French artist, ca. 1503-4 (National Library of Wales)