Droppings From the Table, Part 1
The image burns within
my brain of an
old medieval hall,
remembered from childhood
picture books.
The food is heaped
upon the board,
the shields are on the wall.
The lords and ladies
round the groaning table
flirt and watch the fools,
the one in the silly hat,
and the others huddled
against the walls.
As the eaters of the banquet
gaily proceed on in
drunken bloated revelry
they display their earthly faults,
with arrogance,
to a huddled mud stained peasantry.
The bottom of the hierarchy,
in the shadows serving, or
shut outside the door,
hope to get the garbage
leftover from these bores.
But before the lords and ladies leave,
to pursue their flirtations in
exclusive privacy, the hounds
are let in to lick the floor
and eat the droppings and the gore.
Finally the fools from the shadows
and the huddled groups outside
are allowed into the abandoned hall
to lick the plates,
to glean whatever
greasy scrapes and food
have been left behind.
I think of this scene often
as I read the daily news
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