12. At the Tavern, After the County Fair

 

The carriage of swords

according to codicil number two

“is to be condoned,

indeed commended,

concomitant with character

confirmed by

the County Sheriff.”

 

He drones, he drones,

over the wounded’s cries and moans.

I’d fain be off and on my way

than hear what this fool will surely say.

 

“It is constitutional,

this carriage of swords!

Why just today, at the county fair

a renegade friar ran amok

killed seventeen women

what terrible luck!

That is so many

fewer to fuck.”

 

The jackanapes will not still his chatter,

choosing a quote to settle the matter.

 

‘One resolves the problem of a varlet with a sword

by the presence of a stout fellow with one of his own.’

- El Cid

 

(I sigh, this sophistry

has ever been belov’d

by the Rapier Society

of the Great Ungloved).

 

The Counts and Dukes of Washing Town,

argue this matter up and down,

concerning the carriage of a sword

they do not reach a healthy accord.

 

At the fair, of course, so many are sold,

you can buy a claymore for a little gold!

 

(Boys and oft girls

buy a poniard

or a dagger

though the law

says none below

a dozen years

may own one).

 

The tankards are raised

and I look away

I cannot say it,

not today.

 

“God Bless Vespuccia” is the drunken cry,

and I must mutter, “I’d rather die.”