Alas! [Poem]

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“Poor Yorick” my ass. I got off easy.
Heredity is kindest when it’s short.
Let the forest weep, the poisoned king
dream of pythons and immovable heaven.

We who carry princes on our backs
stoke another’s brawny passion,
infected, jaw-to-toe, with fatigue
and a double-helping of soreness.

The thicket’s the ticket to catch
the breeches of the riding dauphin,
scratch off a flea for quick relief
and a momentary cigarette break.

Even my skull has become your souvenir.
Remember me fondly, parasite.