-—In memoriam Steven Heighton

He is sixty-four this year,
near the sea, where we
find him, serious, scrounging,
unshaven, no guards,
his litter set down in shade.
He looks over us,
covered in dust and worry,
stretches out his neck.

Those stood by hide their faces,
and Herennius,
a centurion, kills him,
cuts off his head, and,
by Antony’s command, hands,
with which he wrote his
Philippics. My children, this
was a learned man.

 

 

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Evan Jones is a Canadian poet living in Manchester, UK. His latest collection is Men of the Same Name (Carcanet).

 

 

 

Photo by Bruna Santos on Unsplash