But you are Rome

Same-thinking individual minds
Who do not protest, but bend
To the whims of the throne
Like wet grass
 
Who cheer the lion
Toss him the starving bodies
Of foreigners, slaves, and believers
And stroke the pungent crust
Of his knotted mane

Ignoring the worms
Crawling from limbs and torsos
He was too bloated to eat
To the tender, skinless place
Where you shackle his neck
To the iron gate