Rhetorical Thirst (rev)

(Formerly - Falling For The Trap (of his own rhetorical thirst))

Felled by the ward of his intransigence,
levelled and laid flat, sword brandished
in denial – sword wafting words uttered
emphatically in a trial of words by wards,
falling for the trap of his own rhetorical
thirst, falling into the gap between those
who run first and those who carp and cry
in the pack – an empty husk cracked
and ablated, an old fool utterly trashed.

He rises from the refuse pile and smiles
awkwardly; the weight of years is erased
in a cloak of discarded peel and wilted
lettuce leaf, feels a freedom beckoning,
steals a glance at the husk in recycled
livery of an unnatural trance, shakes his
tangled hair, shambles from a grave of
arrogance – there’s still room out there
for an old stager – somewhere?
© 31 January 2007, I.D. Carswell