School For Minstrels

The minstrel sat in the street, singing love songs--

Lies flew out of his mouth like blackbirds;

A beautiful onyx rain.



When I woke up that morning,

Luxury seemed a birthright.

Far away, tired soldiers marched with bibles, tobacco, and my picture tucked away in their packs

As if I could care.

The sun rose.

I leant in the stone window and ate a peach.



The minstrel roamed the cobblestones, singing songs of glorious battle--

I threw a shoe at him,

But half way down, it grew wings and perched on his shoulder,

White as a lily.



The ghosts that evening strutted like grandees--

Clouds lounged in my bed.

Plotters lurked outside my door,

Shivs hanging from their robes like crosses.



I had the minstrel killed, brought in, and served up as supper--

I picked at my food.

I said, "I want a woman,"

The way one might say, "I want the devil to shine my shoes."

My family paused, mouths stuffed full,

Then threw me out.



Now I sit in the street before dawn, singing love songs--

I don't believe a word of any of them;

I have nothing.

I am scorned by all.

But I wait well into the afternoon for a particular chambermaid I fancy to pass by...



She always carries a single ripe peach in the pocket of her apron.

I must have it,

And despite my lack of faith, and my absurd feckless history,

I am wiser now than I ever was before,

And am quite prepared to humble myself.

Indeed,

I am ready and eager

To beg.

_________

photo: Swati