A poem inspired by the sculpture of St Sebastian by Claire Curneen
Open hands appease under
Where there’s no sense there’s no feeling.
Yet he strove to be so important, something
greater than can be deceived (to paraphrase the ontological)
noticed him, recognised his capacity
for turning mulish self-aggrandisement into virtue.
Something admired Sebastian’s conviction.
Taking pity on him
He set Roman legions against him.
At the moment
the wounds poured forth,
wouldn’t it have been good
If he’d turned Sebastain’s blood to gold?
Katherine Waudby is a member of Jo Bell’s award winning 52 project. She has three poems on Clear Poetry in August. Her short stories have appeared on various web-zines such as The Beat and Cathy Galvin’s Word Factory. She is 53 and lives and teaches in The Peak District, Derbyshire.