They line the bridge of angels,
line the streets,
sell golly-woggles by the Trevi,
fake designer bags on mats
at every corner.
Pomegranate-glossy,
blue- black polished
by the Afric sun,
cheerful and helpful,
remnants of Roman empire
they look in place.
Surely some distant Nubian thought
the Roman market lived to buy his wares,
packed up the Indian spice,
unicorn’s twisted horn
from Mountains of the Moon,
and sub-Saharan gold,
then squatted regally beside
the Saepta Julia,
selling off his dreams.
Kathleen Griffin
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/africana-res/
