DRAGONS

I sit here smoking my cigarette,
Smoke drifts upward in a pirouette,
Wishing that I could simply forget,
The reasons for the guilt my conscience has beget,
Dreaming of the days that in ancient times are set,
The days when knights in armor were so well met,
When the dragon was all to be feared if one was let.

The beast covered o’er with scale and claw,
Armored by nature from his tail to maw,
In simpler times when strength was law,
The dragon was such a simpler beast than we ever saw,
Compared to the beasts with their immense corporate paw,
From whom we must take our living by the wages we all draw,
And in a society that uses our guilt to fill its craw.

In those days wars were fought by hand,
And your country was your native land,
And it was only for your children you planned,
But now you cannot safely walk along the ocean’s white sand,
As claims are made that not many more generations will have the ozone band,
And perhaps today the Samaritan too would join the damned,
When we have to fear death should we stop to bandage a stranger’s bloody hand.

And the family no longer stands like a fort,
In days of easy divorce and child support,
And we should feel shame that this needs a court,
Because too many would flee to a foreign port,
And a father’s wages are garnished for fear he would be that sort,
And his creditability is questioned by anyone wishing to make report,
Lord, how I wish for the simple dangers that gave to Sir Gawain his mort!

Or, could it be that the dragons were simply smaller at Arthur’s court?

c. August 17, 1992
Matthew E. Forman