Small Sad King
Salty tasty warm tears
How can this be? I am a king.
Kings don’t cry.
Rejected, dejected, lost in the bowels of an ungrateful forest
I stir my sad feelings so hard they become angry feelings
I can deal with them now.
Where is the king? Someone asks.
This infuriates me; I am incognito, so I hide behind the hill.
The hill laughs, further antagonizing me. I am furious now!
I saw a guy crying, someone says.
That can’t be a king, another argues.
I stay hidden, getting smaller and smaller,
until I disappear, glad to escape these inane inept subjects.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2021
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