He wears it under his shirt,
the amulet—like all would-be
has-been heroes—like Lancelot
himself, a tortured soul within
blind-bright armor. Anointed
as a boy, the hope of his people
against tales of oppression (fair
maidens ravished or dragons
in the courtyard): beauty/hatred
might/right. A limp story but
you’ll have it. To begin, go back
to his Jonathan. The sister
is merely bitter, bent
on revenge.
Graceful Press Poetry 