On the beach in the heat of North Carolina, my son built a colossal coliseum
out of sand and shells, where he envisioned lions and Christians at battle
in the Center Ring, for the entertainment of Romans.
That night by the light of the boardwalk, we saw a drunk man
clutching a beer, his ass in the center ring, his legs draped over the eroded remains
of my son’s creation, under the same moon that shines over Rome.