PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Long hair cascaded down the naked young man's back

(perhaps from ten of his fifteen years, that profusion of

soft tresses), so they gathered it into a "centaur's tail" and

tossed it forward, over his torso, before they bound his

slender limbs between two tall posts for the penalty of

scourging---determined, and to be executed, by the

farm's deputy overseer.  Perhaps the most beautiful of

several boys then resident on the property, he had been

found in possession of an exquistely polished sapphire,

most certainly purloined, the deputy had declared, and no

protestations of innocence---from the accused or from his

friends---was entertained to delay the imposition of the

punishment.  The other boys believed that this was,

merely, a pretext:  retaliation for the rejection of the

deputy's lustful advances, which this particular boy had

bravely refused.  Before the "laying on," as it was somewhat

euphemistically described, the deputy demonstrated his

punitive efficiency, on the fresh carcass of a pig (slaughtered

just for this purpose).  The bound boy's eyes widened in

abject terror as he watched the damaging strikes of the

scourge---the drawing of blood, the shredding of flesh, the

crimson mist arising into the air.  As the deputy took his

stance, somewhat theatrically, behind the whimpering boy, the

Poet---just arrived from Rome (where he had read certain

passages, from the mythic epic he was drafting, to the

Emperor and the Emperor's sister) accompanied by the

farm's chief overseer.  "Stop!" the Poet shouted, most

imperiously; then, more quietly, "stop this at once.

"Loose him."  Other servants quickly untied the ropes from

his wrists and ankles, and covered him with a robe for

modesty's sake.  "I found this sapphire in his possession," the

deputy explained, producing the object as evidence.  The

Poet's facial expression, usually pleasant (especially in the

presence of lovely adolescents), became decidedly stern,

then distinctly unpleasant.  "Of course you found it in his

"possession:  I gave it to him for the excellence of his

"skilled scrivening, prior to my departure to Rome:  those

"pages I read to the Imperator, and the Lady Octavia."

Then, to the chief overseer, the Poet said---almost in a

hiss---"Take him behind the barn, and convince him that

"one here is punished, definitely not scourged, until I, and

"I alone, have decided the question."  Behind the barn, the

deputy's screams were far less audible than in the open

courtyard before the Poet's manor house.  Spared from the

scourging and, more importantly, proven innocent of the

theft, the boy joined the Poet, a little later, in his scroll-lined

study.  There the Poet presented him a small box, ornately

carved from sandalwood, an antique actually:  it contained a

pair of stockings---real Koan silk---perfectly translucent

except for the soft opacity of the doubled weave at the

heels and toes.  (This kind of garment had been invented, not

long before, by Cleopatra to please her lover, Mark Antony.)

Happily grateful for the Poet's gift, the boy slowly disrobed---

his gaze never leaving the Poet's.  Then he drew the delicate

stockings on to his agile and clean-shaven legs, he drew

near to the Poet---whose sumptuous robes he coyly parted.

Stars began to emerge into the cloudless sky over the

ancestral farm as the Poet and his companion (whose

legs were still sheathed in those stockings) entered,

together, the tender intimacies of Love, in which

their two souls, rejoicing, converged.

This happened two years before the Poet visited the

vicinity of Megara.

J-Called