406-409: Camelot, Parking Lot

Near that spring kingdom named after Saint George,

the marketplace of Nisson’s house was set,

which had itself a butcher and a forge,

and e’en a tailor’s shop in the outlet.

It smelled always of dust and rotten planks,

which would be bothersome to one of age,

but held no rancor in the youthful ranks

that us kids were: both courier and page.

Our first deeds as the squires of that domain

were there, and there we met, as local youth.

By night we swapped there stories, glories vain,

by day we went on errands there, forsooth.

Arthur had a round bar in Camelot,

and we: the local Nisson’s parking lot.

~

The Lady Kathryn, daughter of Sir Lee

(she lived on a small corn farm down the road)

would meet there oftentimes by night with me,

and there ‘twas first I felt that time had slowed.

Sir Ivie bought there all his father’s grain

(their family raised up cattle through the year).

I noticed him quite oft on Nisson’s lane

but shared no ventures with that knight, I fear.

I even saw king Nelson there one time,

tho I, the little page, said not a word

(his overalls were smirched with garden grime).

I hid, that I might not be untoward.

I always loved the kingdom that we kept,

tho, true, ‘tis an illusion I effect.

~

But thus was how I loved it, and still do—

I could not bear to live it as it is.

Tho, as it is is all I ever knew,

and all that I’ve imagined: what it gives.

For little towns will do that to a boy—

each little thing is bigger in his eyes.

His mayor is of royalty’s employ,

his neighbors, knights and ladies in disguise.

And that’s as it should be, for when I tell

a tale from youth when I was young and free,

on soaring sagas silly I should swell,

and not on rote, routine reality.

Live and remember life as if in love—

as if no better story were thought of.