Looking for Romans
We scaled Hadrianís Wall, walked for miles
searched stones and mounds at Housesteads.
Visited the museum; read the boards,
peered into display cases.
On a wet afternoon watched soaked archaeologists
scrape, sponge and trowel through mud.
Clambered over ruins,
scoured the Centre of Britain, not a sign.
Finally found them
in the car park at Vindolanda;
three live legionaries
dressed to the hilt, leaning on the bus,
finishing their fags
before boarding the AD122.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Ann Gibson would be
pleased to hear them.