Life In The Catapult

the winch's rhythmic crank
the wet creak of the rope
wooden groan of bending oak

O! Woe!
Why must I suffer this brutal fate?
How can celebrity's simple lure
drag one such as I so low?

again I ascend the stairs' creaky complaints
walk the weathered boards
and take my accustomed seat
damp and uneven
nearly bereft
of lower back support

the dank granite sky
teeters over the gatherers
blunt malignancy on their soiled faces
greasy matted hair
bamboo teeth
buzzing flies

if I wore a fool's cap
would it add to your enjoyment
you besotted miscreants?
no, much better:
a tattered royal robe
to more starkly emphasize
my bitter comeuppance

they come to bathe themselves
in the pool of my blood
uplift themselves
with the depth of my humiliation

Unseen Maker
spare Ye this unworthy soul
has not my penance been paid
many times over?

I settle in
scan their dull countenances
blankly pleading for provocation

high and dry, old Bobo
you folks are an entertaining sight
a funnier looking mob I have not seen
how many of you are related?
all of you?

the ritual begun
my sentence is hard-earned

yep, looks like I'll be sitting here all day
I don't see a one of you
that looks like they could
even throw it that far

a muddy little urchin
detaches from a multi-limbed family organism
digs deep into faded overalls
produces a suprisingly shiny coin
which the Tormentor trades
for worn three balls
that once gave joy to small children

strike one, Shorty
is you a girl or is you a boy?
I believe my cat throws harder than you
more accurate too

must I? must I goad this subcreature?
is the justness of my sentence
insufficiently evident?
has he not been offered
more than enough insults
each and every day of his life?

strike two, Cindy Sue
say, ought'n you be home
playing with your dollies?
maybe your arm's sore
from sleeping in the woods at night

a tear, always a tear
with a grim jut of jaw
I brace myself
for it is certain
he will not miss again
justice must be served

I shall be released