There it sat under my nose – a scroll marked Edicts.
On looking up, some umpteen thousand eyes.
It wasn’t so very difficult to predict
that their expectations might give in to outright
hostility – merely an odium
of my own making, which I pondered with a scowl.
And there it sat before my podium,
lowing much like a cow without its bell.
“Recite them! Recite them!” So demanded the crowd –
a task more fit for an actor than a sophist.
Undaunted by this, I read it aloud
and laughed so hard that I nearly gave up my ghost.
For recorded therein were my own opinions,
penned for the jollity of my minions.
God grant them, at the very least, the very most.
[Previous: The Shadow and the Penumbra]
[Next: Poem for Bob Dylan]