it went with the sneaky king, humping Anne’s
handmaid by lamplight centuries ago.
She fled back to Kleve, lived out stinging pain
of years, my forebears holding our secret.
Grandfather waded back to London, clerked
an ale house, gave me this old gold locket
passed down in secret. No sly foe will jerk
it from my neck now. I bided my time
till Libor and subprimes melted us all
yet again; tried bankers scum for their crimes,
hanged them all, led revolt—answered the call
to rule. And now reveal myself, dissent
a mute void in our pill-filled parliament.
Roger Armbrust
September 27,
2013
