The First Supper

He bade those with ears to hear gather
garnered as we were in
layered laurel
flowing robes
royal garments
garland'd vests
wigs like setting sunlight nests
a thick pregnant mother moon about to crest
firelight glowing amber's orange on heaving cheeks
and chests
so the bard stood
and although the tiny band crammed in the Avalanche
played their lutes rudely on
he cleared his throat and persisted nonetheless

woe the wrist dipped in dripped candle wax
a pheasant's feather spinning wildly in his cap
a parcel packaged thoroughly in very tight slacks
light from the candelabra throwing his long shadow o'er the grass

twas the night
some say
a tale as old as the sea
did pass

how we laughed carefree as the story slipped from his lips
past eggs cracked
past ALL that food
meat pies sleeping peacefully next to cow pies
each awaiting the first morn's first borne dew fall
past tiki-torches dimly but delightfully setting the mood
over our heads
through our hearts
floating lazily up
like paper lanterns growing ruddy
rising steadily
to the moon

this bards words were fire, y'all
like screaming rockets splashing color skyward
and he earned his due
but as with every bard's storytelling time
the ending came too soon

when we grasped the news
we gasped aghast
stricken dumb by this yeoman in pantaloons
we gnashed our teeth
we spit
we swooned
we rang his ears with endless pleads
we even moped and moaned
alas

the bard would not be moved
quite true

and what's more?!
he left the tale unfinished
so he'd be SURE of an invite the next go 'round
for the telling of part 2!

TA