Don't Want to Go

Marcus shuffled into the courtyard and fell upon a divan.
"Marcus, Marcus, it's about time you came home."
Darcia voice shattered what peace his mind still held.
"You know you promised me we would visit my family."

"Yes, dear, I did, but right now the Senate is in session.
I must be here to help with weighty government needs."
He sat upright and hung his head between his hands.
"You knew when you married me the Senate took my time."

His darling wife, so slim, so sleek, so easy on the eye,
slid beside him and wrapped slender arms around his neck.
"But you promised. A year has passed since you did.
Please, I just want to talk with my mother for a short while."

Marcus shook his head before he turned to kiss her cheek.
"I know, my love, but I can't always control the world."
Darcia pulled back and stared at him. "You don't try.
You always have some excuse." Tears glistened on her cheek.

"Ah, my treasure, each was not my fault, not at all.
How could I know our horses would fall ill,
or that the chariot would break? I had no way to know."
He gathered her close. "Please don't cry, we'll go."

Time passed, and the Senate's work complete,
when once again Darcia demanded, "Tell me when."
Now what do I do? thought he. I'm comfortable here.
"Yes, my dear, as soon as you have new gowns to wear."

Seamstresses came, measured, cut, and sewed.
Many weeks later, all the new wardrobe was packed,
the trunks loaded on the cart and ready to go.
Marcus with a sigh, escorted his bride for their ride.

Half way to Darcia's parents' home, they met a man,
dirty, shabby, staggering with pain and exhaustion.
"Stop," he whispered, "I need help, can go no farther."
They dismounted, gave him drink beside the road.

His story left them both in shock and in awe:
Pompey was no more.
Marcus nodded.
I knew I didn't want to go.


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