A Tall Tale

written for the 600 word NYC Rhyming challenge -

Genre: fairytale/fantasy Theme: plentiful Emotion: unappreciated

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He was their Royal Majesty, His Highness and His Grace,

but once again, he ventured softly to that secret place.

Again, once more, in mid-petition, Kevin became lost

and he wondered silently, how much it would really cost

his kingdom if he left it all, and simply walked away?

Would it all be just swell and fine, or there be Hell to pay?

His daughter sat upon his left, his son sat on his right,

and through their years together, oh, they’d bicker and they’d fight:

“Blessed with twins,” the doctor said. He had hoped for any other

offspring outcome. “Blessed, my eye! A sister and a brother!”

He sort of heard the latest quarrel served upon his plate

as he sifted through his options considering his fate

(a simple trick he’d known for years; while they were busy asking,

he was busy doing more - his mind was multi-tasking).

The queen had sworn to secrecy, the midwife did the same,

they three, upon their pinky fingers, never would they name

the one born first, the elder child, so no one ever knew

who would head the monarchy and who’d be number two.

They both would rule equally, at least that was the plan,

but best laid plans can go awry, as they so often can.

Out loud he solved the problem and his page called for the next –

a blacksmith with an axe to grind, who, like he, was vexed

with irritating children, both a source of constant bother;

neither boy would follow in the footsteps of his father.

The burly man recounted, and his tale droned on and on

as the king’s head nodded up and down, but his mind had gone

to a far away past when he himself had had a dad

who accused him of knavery. He once called him a cad!

“You gamble life! You tempt the Fates! I swear upon your mother!”

He said, “If I could do so, I would trade you for another!”

So, from his stash, he grabbed the cash he’d won the night before

and his trusty mandolin and sauntered out the door.

He would venture far and wide and prove his father wrong.

He’d beat the men at their own game, win women with a song.

Two years and ten he travelled thus until he met “the one.”

He knew right then and there that his travelin’ days were done!

A princess, to boot! A steady, lifetime income guaranteed.

She came, of course, with strings attached: ‘twas royally decreed

that whosoever slayed The Beast would win her wedded hand,

succeed the throne, become the king and ruler of the land.

Many tried and they all died - the monster cooked their flesh,

but not too much, just a touch – it ate them whole and fresh.

So he, instead of trying to kill a beast to win a nation,

used his wits to slay the beast. A loose interpretation

to be sure, but he so he did and did so without braggin’:

it loved his songs, and jokes more so, and thus he slew a dragon.

The smith was done and still the fucking line went out the door!

His mind was made, he stood and turned, he could accept no more.

His loving wife, the ever gracious queen, offered her hand

And out they slipped, a hidden way, to settle their own land.

Their secret place, far far away, where they could build a life

Where he could be a simple man and she simply a wife.