“Emperor”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-26)

 

 

The emperor is naked

But his appetite must be sated

No one in this camp will admit to being aware

They stand shoulder-to-shoulder, under the stairs

Stuck in the broom closet, like a forgotten Christmas gift

Fearing the rise of a tribal rift

A spat between allies

Who struggle in the darkness, behind closed eyes

Among their membership

They huddle in a hurry when polls take a dip

Down, down goes the magical clown

After the circus has left our town

Red nose robbed with a two-finger pinch

In bygone years, staying strong was a cinch

But now the weight of bad decisions and war

Cause the faithful to wonder what they’ve been fighting for

Tariffs and insults pop like kernels in hot oil

A whistle of warning, a kettle on the boil

Somewhere, adversaries are stunned and gleeful

Over happenstance mistakes that tug and pull

At the horse’s tail

Not enough breadcrumbs left to form a trail

So the riddlers must take care

To track footprints left by those who were unaware

Of this void, waiting to be filled

A messy splash of tea being spilled

While the naked monarch rides high

And his judgment is nigh

An orange tan glistening in the light of day

Bright and boastful while on parade

Standing stiffly in silent repose

They compliment the gleam from new set of clothes

Dutifully starched and pressed

No citizen of the republic could have guessed

How grand that sight must be

When seen through the lens of antiquity

A thousand warriors shed their blood as a sacrament

And that offering left a mark on the pavement

Washed away when thunderstorms raged

And history turned the page

But in the heart of a negligent, narcissistic knave

It seems understandably brave

A leap into the lore of kings and queens

Who lived to be worshipped, by any means

Now, the remnants of that gilded acclaim

Are a gawker’s remorse, standing out in the rain

A conquest, joyfully joined

A ruling reputation, purloined

At the bottom of a chasm, deep and forlorn

This unclothed babe will swing ‘round the saddle horn

Giggling with glee

Jackboots kicking high, from the knee

As soldiers march skillfully, to a cadence of drums

And a retort of black-powder guns

This is the world in which we now reside

An inner sanctum of secrets scrawled in chalk, on the outside

Yet read in a language never voiced aloud

Not a statement of courage to be shared with the crowd

Heads lowered like a banner at half-staff

A snicker and snort when the master rolls past

Regal in his invisible attire

Perched proudly, this jaybird on a wire

If there were even a few, righteous souls intact

Then these cities might be spared from attack

But temptation lingers with the stale stink of must

As the naysayers proclaim, “In him, we trust!”

Our majestic potentate

Depicted on a slab of virgin slate

Exposed but unseen

This glimmer and gleam

Flashes before the spectators who pause

To make a contribution to the holy cause

The irony sticks in my throat

He rides tall in public, with no trousers or a petticoat

Strutting gaily along the avenue

For the approval of rascals and rubes

And praise from the supplicants

Who howl and rant

About an almighty figure, foretold

Handed down in the ink inscriptions of a scroll

His prophecy fulfilled in a wager

Over dice cast from the hand of a stranger

And shells moved in sequence

While we wallow in the essence

Bare-bottomed is the beast

Come ye all, to the feast!