the village: iv:
bluthgelt's sayings: i.
the taxman he thinks
that he's a big star like Death
with everyone fearing
his cold smelly breath
his ledger a scythe
his work one of taking
one could almost forgive him
for the mistake he is making
when out by the barn
he goes to my goldpile
and finds just a hole now
and a hand to help lie down
and a stone for a pillow
on top of his head:
Death vs. Taxes:
Taxman lies Dead.
ii: bluthgelt was the baker:
bluthgelt was a man
now he lives Outside us
as a killer of a man.
still he does some service
the Elder Council knows
there are always some need killing :
so they keep a killer dog close
and when he spends his namesake
at the tavern or the fair:
no-one knows his name:
to us he isn't there
iii
for he wears a Council token
of freedom and despair:
a coin of gold
a red cross
twisted in his beard.
held there by a ribbon
of nanometric steel:
'twill grow now with his beard hair,
his madness
and his fear
as he crouches in his rude hut
just outside the Ways
waiting for the signal
the Council sometimes makes
counting up his gold
taxless, he is rich
alone amongst the robins
he yearns for a cold ditch
to pitch his pale form into
to strangle and to twitch
: but his heart it still beats strongly
there will be more years of this
this lesson to the others
that bluthgelt failed to learn:
kill not of your neighbours
or
forever
burn.
2009 Peter Greene.
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