BOY KING

Grueling and a drag it can be,

The ghost of long ago Egypt 

To any lover of history.

Just consider cherished heart

Tutankhamen,

Victim of inbreeding -

His club foot 

And developmental disabilities...

He was killed with one swift stroke,

Submitted no doubt with grace

To ritual assassination 

By a clergy the face of which 

Could be painted with alacrity by Ridley Scott.

Just like that, I vow

Never to mourn any death of cynicism.

When such occurs,

I will cry for the loss of the young pharoah 

And the way it happened.

But a cynical thing done and departed?

That is a joy!

***

[NOTE: This is a companion piece to the earlier, history-inspired HATSHEPSUT SITTING ON HER HANDS, which can be found if you rifle through my Instagram archive at @william.robert.way, and that I pledge to soon republish here as it is, like these latest poems, written during these last three years I've lived in New York City.]