a Turnabout Man
(I don't mean his feet smelled
and that his nose ran)
This barn-boy born
In old Babylon
In the flip of a coin
became Shah of Iran.
His Destiny, Manifest,
seemed like a sign.
He honored himself
in a party of Wine.
His name, Achashverosh,
Globally hated
(To say it your throat
must be well-lubricated).
From above the Great Sea,
From Kush to Hindie, he ruled
Yet his hunger was scarcely half-sated.
"One last coup d'etate,
then dominion is Mine!"
But Vashti was set
on her own feast of Wine.
This King was a Jack
With an Ace in his boot
But his Queen was unsuited,
She would not follow suit.
She drew clubs.
Then spades threw earth on the grave
Where she faded;
She, who like diamonds did shine
And the heart of the King
was merry with Wine.
And at last, one long and wintry night,
A princess appeared,
dressed in plain white.
When the King picked this shoot
From the tree of twelve roots
She was balm for the poisonous snake, Aggagite,
Who hate had eaten a hole in his mind
Then,
the King and Haman
sat down to drink Wine.
"Where the sticker bush was,
the myrtle will thrive"
(It's a verse in Isaiah, fifty-five)
Meaning: "Esther, the Myrtle,
Will leap every hurdle -
And Mordechai too
That unbending Jew.
"Haman & Sons" go bankrupt and hang
(Dangling modifiers
describe well that gang)
Bad finally loses to Good
Sweet things grow
where yucky ones stood.
At last Chaos admits design;
And vineyards in Israel ripen with Wine.
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