The Shakespeare Lesson

for John Reichert

None of the students liked Cleopatra. 
 She was selfish, they said, and Antony 
was a wimp—because he wouldn't decide 
 how he felt, because he ran away, 
and couldn't even kill himself. 

They were so impatient 
 with the languors of Egypt, the perfume 
and the barges, those fond little games 
 he felt so close to. 
Is there anyone you admire?

he asked, himself half in love with Cleopatra. 
 Caesar, one student answered, 
because Caesar knew what he wanted. 
 The sun caught in the smudged-up 
panes of glass; he fiddled with the lectern.

Could he tell them Caesar 
 was the wrong answer? 
Antony, after all, had betrayed the man 
 his soldiers needed him to be. 
And Cleopatra was foolish, unpredictable …

Could he ask them not to feel 
 so certain about what they felt? 
He said it was complicated. 
 Why does it have to be complicated? 
someone asked. Is that always good?

And shouldn't they have talked, 
 figured out what they meant 
to each other? Why does everybody 
 always have to die? 
Let's look at the last scene, he said,

and saw a stage crowded with bodies, 
 saw her body displayed among the others. 
How does it make you feel? 
 he asked, although he did not know anymore 
what he wanted them to say.