Alas, my head is bruised and hurt
My hands are filled with ash and dirt
The fire has gone out in the sink
And there is not enough to drink
Perhaps the sun has lost its flare,
But as for me, I couldn’t care
The world is turned to shades of creme
And melted fact and sense with dream
And willy-nilly ‘cross the tiles
The jester dances as he smiles
The king is slumped upon the throne
His sceptre limp, his shoes unshone
And where the queen is, no one tells
But something in the kingdom smells
The knights have turned to lonesome days
And all the banners’ greens to grays
Perhaps the cook has spiked the stew
With who knows what, for who knows who?
And flouncy-bouncy ‘cross the room
The jester dances with the groom
Upon the hearth, three parrots sit
And gambol in raw seeds and shit
They cannot speak except in rhyme
And constant, crawk out “What’s the time?”
A raucous noise they raise ’til dawn
Without a thought to dwell upon
Perhaps the pages have all turned
And left the roast beast on to burn
And tripsy-dipsy ‘cross the stage
The jester incants like a mage
My head is filled with nonsense stuff
Cracked teacups, straw and milkweed fluff
The chairs have taken up their arms
And forced the maids to sell their charms
Beside the moat, Ophelia waits
Insulting those with balding pates
And deep within the prison’s keep
The prince is trying hard to sleep
And onesy-twosy ‘cross the hall
The jester’s tripped and had a fall.
01 APR 2004
