King of the Hill
Take the hand from the throat
and lay it on the breast -
there are better ways to conquer
and the children of their children
attest where strength lies best.
Out of the womb and womb surge
these curly headed boys and girls
who dip and glide while
a bloody engine subsides
in the muck of decrepit Troy.
These parapets and moat -
playthings of cavorting dreamers
who trace sandalled steps,
with feet so smooth and bare,
with tiny toes and fingers clinking
salvaged rings and baubles
that once proclaimed
this mud, this hill, this gated wall and tower
- the holdings of a king.