Had Sat Closer To Nod

He had sat closer to Nod, was third rank now,
fifth tier, almost out of the gathering. It was
small beer – rather a come-down from the
heady days.

The words rang clear, you have engaged
in heresy, gainsay, deigned to take Nod’s
word in vein. And with a small ‘n’!

Plainly you see yourself grander than
your status permits you be; get thee
hence to the third rank, fifth tier,
about out of the stadium. Ye shall
languish there until someone finds
your sorrowful work hilarious again.

Judgement by cold-hearted peers
is a torrid way to end a burgeoning
awareness of self-importance, a thwarted
career as a humourist who doesn’t think
he’s all that funny or necessarily sane.

But there you are; at least
they needed his presence where
the robes trailed in dust, where their hopes
for humanity still rested in his hands.
© I.D. Carswell 2006