Dressed in a Name

When word came that John had died - 
an altercation on the ale-house road,
great lamentation reigned within our home.
For brave John was the one my father said would go
to Fulda, study for the priesthood there and
bring great learning, wealth and honour
by return.

The door was hung in black, my father wept
and cursed to have no son. I was banished
to an aunt and took the chance I had
to don the good John's clothes and take his name.
He would never have survived the monastery,
having no sobriety or subtlety of wit.
They expect a John to knock upon their door.
They'll let me in.



Days of the Dogs
Arab Spring - 2011

The dogs are loose on the street,
...