Saturday, 17 November 2012

Gawain and the Green Knight

King Arthur and his men sat down;
A courtly party, in the round.
On Wetherspoons they had descended
(The pub, by Merlin, recommended.)
’Twas chivalry they were espousing,
Though most of time was spent carousing.

They'd come to dine, all twenty seven,
For 'twas the birthday of Sir Kevin.
A dinner most Arthurian
Of egg and chips and beer and ham.
But as they laughed and supped and ate,
Foul spinners span the threads of fate.

For those who play from dusk till dawn
Know out of mead are bust-ups born.
And Sir Gawain, hot-head lout,
Would likely get them all thrown out.
As, if his armour had one chink,
'Twas that he could not hold his drink.

And so it was, some knights strode past,
With gasp of breath and crash of glass
The pint was knocked from Gawain's lips
And larger doused his fish and chips.
As soggier his food became,
He wheeled around for one to blame.

“Oi Green beard! You colossal tit!”
“Leave it Gawain, he ain't worth it!”
The Knight, who stood o'er six feet tall,
Addressed Gawain in languid drawl,
“'Twas not I who spilled your pint,
“But, if you're spoiling for a fight..?”

The Knight was fast, but Gawain faster,
And none could move to halt disaster,
For, quick as light, his sword unsheathed,
The Green Knight's neck, in two, was cleaved.
His head hit carpet with a thud,
His green cloak stained with bright red blood.

The party shocked, a silence fell,
Sir Kevin claimed to feel unwell.
And yet, through all, the Knight still stood,
A headless figure stained with blood.
From on the floor the head did cough,
The Knight reached down, raised it aloft.

The eyes snapped open, sharp as claws,
“What the fuck'd you do that for?"
"I bare my neck, you go and strike it?
“Next year: my turn. See how you like it!”

And with a flourish, the Knight had gone
To sellotape his head back on.