Blog 2: The King Drinks Too Much

The King Drinks Too Much


Tonight ants may dance between His toes

Unlikely as it is that they could depose

Do they not know, that it matters no more

For the King drinks on the morrow

Hummus and veggies and cranberry juice

Laying gently on gilded platters as though trying to seduce

And those who carry potatoes that are mashed, corn that is on the cob and beans

By all means, they will become the prospect of Queens

In this night of bakkheia, the King gives to him in the trees

And in reverence falls to his knees

And rises inflamed with music and dance and merriment

And fears no longer meddlesome worriment

If on the morrow of the morrow the king should feel sorrow

It means that he has been thorough

And the King will pull up his skirts

Look at the birds, and trample all his honoured guests


Be wary of the King who drinks too much

Such is the the nature of bakkheia

Let us not become saddened

By the ebbing of the the flow of cranberry juice

We should follow then, the way of man

For whom water is better guidance

In that it flows patiently, adapting, adjusting, content

And accepts without reservation