Down’s before birth
If you could change this life
for a real one,
- say - with a fulsome story
and a master’s hand
to maraud in a spanking world
maybe to spots more often lost
- would you go?
Imagine you’re ready;
standing moments before birth
in pounding rain,
shivering with all anticipation
turning down your little mind
to nothing – wanderer -
with such a lot to give:
perhaps it’s not so dark and cold
as you fight your way into a sweeter handicap:
as fool, magician, simple wizard, king.
Here’s a hand from the right side
holding a tangle of cotton.
Finger and thumb from the left side
(turning before the wind catches)
take up the end of a blue one
and master it under the sun.
King Andrew sits upon his camping chair,
gazes round a breakfast circle; cooking
on a campsite, frying sausages;
eggs are cracked and smells of coffee
snake along a breeze to rise and enter
into now. Everything is set for feasting,
look, a sunny time’s on hand;
his vision’s clear and King surveys the land!
But wait – what is this quality called King-ship?
Why do people rush to cook him breakfast?
Why do people serve a man, this elf?
Because a warm and gracious King
adores his people more than judges;
loves them for themselves.