the pale green grasses stood knee high
the tin god rode into the field on his
wooden horse
he showed no spirit but strained his eyes
in his restless and annoyed manner
the sun shone high in the cloudless sky
and the heat could be felt under his worn coat
decorated with his red and blue medals,
ribbons, and pins which hung heavily as
accomplishments of his past battles
he smiled as he pulled on the bit of Xeelo
because he knew no one would enter this pasture
hidden behind Mount Parnassos in this hot valley
His dismount was stiff and stately
the tin clanked against the stirrups
sending the birds reeling to the treetops:
a fanfare for his efforts.
he saw in the treetops the mountain’s shadows
and saw the glade where he had eaten goat
and rice the day before over a brazier
Janos had comforted him and given him
the new directions and his new coat of mail
they fitted light on his shoulders and
were comfortable when out of the sunlight
this he concluded as he squatted in the grass.
Janos is serious but then
he is sure to be laughing at the sight
and welcoming this god to rest in any oven
being neither iceberg nor island but rather tin
planting a flagless pole next to his horse
the Hero relieves himself before anybody comes.
– Chris George
1981/82
