Tuesday, December 06, 2016

A Dream of Fair Women

Come winter, we shall learn the ways

Of women, young and wanton, run
Amok in books, which we shall praise
For literary merit. We
Shall substitute them for the sun
And make believe they’re history.

Juliet is not much like school,
Nor Guinevere like Mrs Beale,
Who is not golden, nor a fool
For chivalry. The cold and snow,
Unlike Isolde, is not real.
And where did all the Helens go?

Not to our school. Not then. Not yet.
I looked and then returned to read
Where princesses glittered jade and jet.
The janitor died of smoke and flame
Down in the boiler room. I need,
But cannot quite recall, his name.

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