A poem by Thomas Thornburg
from Ancient Letters (1987)

After the last trick had been turned in the game,

The bumpers drunk, the galley fallen apart;

The lying maid having drunk to a different name

A cup for the journey, so to speak, at the start;

One wonders whether that harried dame ever thought

In terms of that fat man she and his father had wrought.

Surely in knowing she would have aborted that plan

Before it came forth in this world and assumed the shape of a man,

Perhaps. Nine gods were enough of a problem; she laid it on fate;

She even exclaimed on how simple it was and absurd

(She was dead for some time before they came to kill her, too late)

To have birthed and been part of the proof and the power of Hate.

The guise it assumed and its manner have also endured:

Took its place in the capitol, developed a penchant for fire,

Was witty and sullen, hired artists to teach it the lyre,

Gave games for the people, and sang like an innocent bird.

Editor’s note: Agrappina was sister to Caligula and the mother of Nero. There is more here.