Mystery Tour
The guide with his cheesy hat, and colorful umbrella
encourages us to: gather 'round.
His anecdotal spiel is by rote,
his shtick fact-slim and slick,
but it’s also my current gestalt
as I am dragged unwillingly
along by his ‘cliff-notes’ speech.
One ruined effigy catches my eye
Its a fair facsimile of myself.
He (a god/king of some minor something),
looks mildly disgusted,
as if a bothersome fly had landed on his crumbling nose.
My bored skeptical face
reflects perfectly that sour mien of his.
At last I am processed meekly back onto the tour bus,
where predictably,
my fellow passengers are already peering forward
into a new fancifully imagined future and past
an unrecorded ersatz history
and ad libitum supposition,
which is hard to take.
for I and that crumbling king
are not anyone’s theory.
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