The Death Of King Arthurs Mare by Melanie Browne

The poet read his poem,
a long one about the
death of King Arthurs Mare,

he slurred his speech a bit,
he rubbed his eyes,
and the legs
of his jeans,

Arthur was alone,
grieving for Llamrei,
the poet began,
and that whore
Gwenevere was
off fucking Lancelot
,

The room was silent.
I could see that he
was tearing up,

Arthur wished he was
a wild boar,


the poet
took a drink of water,
gulping loudly into the
microphone,

so that he might rip off
Lancelot's head,

the moon that night
was purple,

and the night was cruel.
Arthur cursed the heavens,

Lancelot and Gwenevere
didn't last, however,
Gwenevere got caught in
the housing crunch,
was laid off from her job,
and started turning tricks
near the entrance to the
Lincoln Tunnel.

Arthur still weeps
for Llamrei and
sometimes Gwenevere,
but he met a cutie
from El Salvador-
they sell handbags
near Canal street.

After the poet
finished the reading,
I told him I
liked his poem,

he smiled
and asked me if I
liked coffee,
if I want to read
more of his stuff,

later he showed me
his notebook,
it's full
of poems about
Gwenevere,

her real name is Arlene,
he said,
she likes horses,

I just met her at NA

1 comment:

Old 333 said...

Ah, that was a trip. Thanks for it! "Arthur wished he was a wild boar." Awesome.

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Black-Listed Magazine is an online literary magazine. We publish on a rolling basis: weekly, daily, sometimes hourly. Send submissions here: blacklistedmagazine@hotmail.com