Thirty-five pages in, I think I’ve found the villain.
It’s his play I’m watching unfold, so why
is the story out of control? “Censor yourself!”
The glamorous amorous King of the world
forgot that he is King for a day,
the player with the long goodbye,
but goodbye while on-stage.
I wonder what kind of kingdom
the sons of the murdered brave will have.
The future looks as foretold as the past;
the world spins on its axis and fortunes reverse.
The present did not creep up:
it came bearing trumpets.
By Heidi Turner