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Monday, August 31, 2015

Upon the Rising of His Prince

Awakened from a nap
the slow gradient of thought
pitches forward from dreams
to view the court

from six now to five counted
(sigh)
swimming peasants
of this variety
not easily seen after
only three days of this monarchy
when
spotted on the bottom
a bit of orange fin
now still
slightly hidden by a tube
of rising bubbles

while others float and frolic
without innertubes or
pop-top cans of Meade

one minute leads to three
just on the edge of the dais
with visions of nets and garbage cans
whirling about this throne
of aches and haze
for the King

oh brilliant light of creation
shines and up (it) RISES!
from three minutes
of a nap just the same
as (its) liege lord

now six counted

upon the news
His Majesty rises
from his afternoon retreat
with no attendant in sight
to move the week's leavings
from the castle
to the bin at the edge
of the drawbridge
thence to the curb

for Tuesday be not
Solent Green day
'tis not made of fish

whence on the morrow, good friend,
the roughshod vassal shall dismount
from his hungry white and monstrous stead
with gaping arse
which consumeth the remnants
of the weekly celebrations
sans one courtly guppie
crowned a Prince most valiant
for 'tis lived to joust
in armored contests
of fishy (manliness?)

oh dear gODD




Barry G. Wick