& so here comes the big green fucker again riding up on his big green fucking horse with his hollybob & big fucking axe heading to that fancy fucking christmas feast at camelot but his gps is off
& he ends up at a potluck in a latch park
& instead of his rendezvous with honorable arthur & his chivalric knights / instead of meeting the great gawain again for the moral of all moral games he rides up to a smoking circle of coffee drinkers / to backyard gardeners showing off crooked carrots / to homemade salsa enthusiasts with tupperware / to old women in fraying flannel hoodies sitting on the backs of their walkers / to men wearing knit hats eating peanuts & playing dominoes / to slender kids throwing down cardboard to breakdance / to fattening uncles huffing up & down pickup games
& he rides into so many music makers/ into jug bands of wallflowers / into chorales of chanters / into quartets of whistlers / into guitar pickers / into banjo strummers / into hambone drummers / into amateur yodelers / into beatboxers galore
& he rides up to a field full of babies rolling in the grass at the feet of the village who it takes to chow down together on the chow they made to gather together
& even though he is still big as fuck & bright green as always / even though his horse is big as fuck & bright green as always / even though his axe is big as fuck & his hollybob is bright green as always no one seems to notice him & his always noticeable barefeet because there are barefeet all over this shindig / this hoedown / this blockparty & these barefeet are busy stepping on top of each other for the molasses cookies / rubbing together for slowdancing / jumping together onto broken wooden benches for sport / just feeling together the grass underfoot for the fuck of it
& he has to shout not once or twice but he has to keep shouting from way up there on his big green fucking horse before anybody raises an eye to him / before anybody turns down the music to ask whatcha waiting for an invitation? / before everyone breaks apart laughing at the idea of an invitation ever even being needed for this here party
& confused the big fucker dismounts into a crowd of hands & voices & bodies sliding by without worry of his big body / without worry of his big axe / without worry of his bright greenness
& he wades into aunties telling him what to try first / cousins just wanting a high-five / neighbors asking if he has something that needs heating ‘cause they got extra sterno / everyone saying it’s ok if he didn’t / forgot / couldn’t bring a thing ‘cause there’s plenty
& it takes two bowls of corn chowder / three cheese biscuits / a fry bread taste test / four cold cans of homebrew / a hot mug of spiked cider / kettles full of everyone’s chili / & some hot ass porchgrown peppers for him to realize these are not dares but invitations / that it’s all invitation
& how many smiles / & how many new babies / & how many old names / & how many shit, i didn’t know you were coming(s) before he forgets he wasn’t coming / before he forgets where he was going for the past thousand years proper / for thousands of years before that though
& how many we’ve missed you so much(s) before he forgets the dare he was headed to make / the little belittling needed for the brutal beheading that starts all moral games / that turns the proud to butchers / that sanctions the civilized to civilize beheadings in the name of
& how many kind hands on his big green fucking knee / & how many knowing hugs of his big green fucking body / & how many gifts of just being the fuck with before he forgets for good about camelot & gawain & all that stupid / honorable / moral shit?
