The Kings that Sleep

Wished-for greatness,

lost glory and lost battles

fuel nostalgic bathos.

Arthur son of Uther the dissembling adulterer

sleeps in Avalon, or Alderley Edge, or on Anglesey

or… or… or…

The English have no monopoly

on waiting,

sleeping,

returning

kings.

Blessed Bran waits,

head on a hillock

guarding the isles.

Finn McCool awaits the sound of the war cry

to lead all his mullet-headed warriors back

to whatever it is that was stolen today.

No

            Scot

                          is

                                  waiting...

Holger Dansk

sits stony-faced on his throne,

sleeping and waiting,

waiting and sleeping.

From Inca Rey to Barbarossa,

from Peru to Kyffhaüser they

all sleep, they all wait,

but just so long

as others await them.

Even Genghis merely rests,

they say.

There are no kings left,

but those of myth and delusion.