The Free Radical

The Greatest King

The thing about the Greatest King,
those who’re listening
might appreciate,
Is… though he may know
Joy,
he couldn’t understand–
he was only eight–
How was he supposed to be great?
“I’m just a boy
from a far off distant land!”
Not gonna lie,
he was only five
When he took flight
to that distant quarter.
The thing about that far-off land–
please understand–
A king with a ruling hand
Had never tamed… her border.
The boy had been named the Greatest King…
But who could lay blame or utter disdain or
anything… disparaging?
It was just a name–
the same lame game
we’re all called to play…
As Rotbaggers or Kings,
we’re called many things…
And then the things that we say!
So often disagreeable;
But such mountains build up…
And the Greatest King would near sing
“Fuck! I’d say that’s definitely skiable!”
Yes, the boy loved snow and
strapping things to his feet.
And you know… he’d even go to meet
Death in the snow– such conceit!
But he had such faith, he’d show,
in those things on his feet…
And little-by-little he gained understanding:
At the extreme, the middle’s demanding–
the launch and the flight
are only as good as the landing,
and should he die in his boots…
He might even be standing!
And to die like a man commanding respect…
…except he’d be dead– no condition to expect
much of anything ahead…
Silly King!
Best not to die… quite… yet.
Other adventures lay in wait
For those skirting fate
and willing to love more than just blizzards.
Whether first, worst or best
a friend is a test,
Especially when he’s a wizard.
And where but here among
rhyme or jest
Could the Greatest King meet a Zymurgist?
For a Zymurgist is a kind of wizard,
Near and dear to nearly everyone here–
A Zymurgist is a Wizard of Beer!
Oh dear!
Let’s be clear… a Wizard of Beer
Is no one to fear,
But his expertise in all things beer
was merely a disguise…
and underneath a crazy kind of wise
belied his bloodshot weary eyes.
“Come here,” he sighed,
“And tell me what you’ve realized.”
And the King had to think,
For he didn’t wish to appear
deficient or queer,
a fool or a dink, so he raised up his drink
and said “Um… I like beer.”
The Wizard laughed politely
and immediately thought it rude,
So he mustered up a belly laugh
that ended… in a puke– you know,
just one of those… little sour flows…
up into your throat… or maybe your nose,
not much, but just such enough
to make one sputter and cough…
and utter at last “To start off…
I was just trying to laugh.”
Now there’s more to hear, you know
than about beer and snow and such–
But not much!
There’s this one other thing
that our recalcitrant King–
A flower– that a boy needs to pluck;
For boys will be boys… and kings with their things…
Well, you know how a boy loves… his truck?
Well the Greatest King found his luck on a string
that pulled him from the lure of the loner–
Let’s please understand that a King is a man
with two hands… and an occasional boner.
But the tug on this string was no ordinary thing:
The rhythm of a new different drummer…
And the King who loved winter
Started a fling
With a girl ironically named Summer.
Now at the risk of high treason
let’s fill in the seasons…
As we’d expect, perhaps with regret,
He was prone to forget… What
was the King inept at remembering?
Anything… and all… and that was his fall,
with autumnal grace
he’d say straight to your face
“I just forgot… That’s all.”
Okay, dearest King
That brings us to spring
and the planting of seeds… and ideation.
What might you need
that would ever exceed
the choices of your own creation?
Indeed, spring is no season… for philosophy
And the King would proclaim
on his good name
that “No one is the boss of me!”
Agreed! Indeed! Nothing to concede.
Let’s leave this atrocity
before it recedes
into a paucity of words…
But all things… being equal
I retain the rights to the sequel.