For years I have been the Fool
to the King of Humanities,
court jester to the crown
that clamps to your head like a vice
and cannot be taken off
until someone can be found
who will put it on instead,
in spite of the permanent crease
it will put around their skull,
in spite of the blood
that runs down from the band like sweat
and has to be wiped continually from the eyes,
someone idealistic and gullible as you were
when you first picked it up.
For years, I have been the Fool
to the King of Humanities,
since Carl the Commoner first picked up the Crown,
years ago, despite my warning,
‘It’s a curse, not a crown!
Put it down!
Put it down!”
But the good,
and the gullible,
who still believe that good can be done,
never listen to Fools
who no longer believe.
So for years I have watched
King Carl the Brave
defend the realm against armed idiots,
petty empire builders who climbed to the top
on a ladder of daggers
back by back,
fools for power
who would gallop an army off a cliff
as long as they got to lead.
And if there is peace now,
it is only because
so many of them were led
by his clever stratagems
to cliffs they could jump from.
For years I have watched
King Carl the Wise
divide a shrinking cake,
three times smaller than Necessity to begin with,
between people with common sense
and people with advanced degrees, all shouting
“Her piece is bigger than mine!”
and “He got all the icing!”
for the citizens of the Kingdom of Humanities
are an unruly lot
and the fact
that they did not fall to eating one another
during his reign
is not the least of his triumphs.
For years I have watched
King Carl the Diplomat
charm dragons and the parents of dragons
I would have killed gladly
and stuffed under the desk,
(What a surprise they’ll get
when they move that piece of furniture
out of Fort Literature.)
because it is easier to fight creatures
who don’t know what they want,
except a fight,
than to negotiate with them
and yet he would negotiate anyway,
even when they wanted to eat a faculty member,
saying, “Oh no. Not him. Not her.
They’re bad for your stomach.
They’re too tough to chew.
They’d only make you sick.”
until they went away grateful,
grinning from ear to ear,
that he had stopped them just in time
from biting into a turd sandwich.
Now the years are done
and the curse expiated,
and someone as fearless and good
has been gulled into taking the Crown,
I can pass on my cap and bells
to the next Fool,
and since every wife
already has a Fool of her own,
he knows who he is,
and King Carl of Humanities can become
Carl the Commoner again
selling songs in the street
to crowds of the deaf,
like the rest of us.
And all that remains to be said to Queen Sandy,
now, as the Crown of Humanities
clamps to her head like a vice
and cannot be given back
or taken off
for years and years
is
“The King is Free!
God Save the Queen.”
©WILLIAM JOHN WATKINS
William John Watkins 