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