A Fool needs a Gun

When he realised what had happened to him

He felt the reach for a gun to be the first

To annihilate the onlookers who had beggared him,

Who had badgered him and who had preyed on his mind.

His mind was his own he said and not to be tampered with

But his body was theirs to do with as they pleased.

He did not like it when they put a salve upon his breast

And then looked athither and asquiff at his face

For signs of a beating brain

Inside his head.

For it was a throbbing there for them to see

For it all should be told as a mystery

How he came to be there in the shine of day

How he wanted to leave and yet there was no way

To avoid it – he was in the role for the next hour or more

The role of Vesuvius the man of the Mount

Spurting rupture about.  They had incinerated his plan

To be the King of England and they had burnt

To the cinder the Name of his Betrothed.

Elizabeth was one, but he was another who thought a shot

In a dark place was a better thing than a shot on a winter’s day.

And so that goes to show that it is not a fool who wills it but

A fool who wears it primely, like a fool number on the back

Measuring the incant of the Age.

Copyright 2016 Bruce E Saunders


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