THE FALSE KING #poetry by jay

Exultation falls flat when the 
false king walks in 
and expectations
sound the trumpet—

signaling to bow down and pray to the idol 
to display your loyalty 
without thought or care

whomever, wherever you lay, or 
whoever you marry
loses, as the false king chooses to 
blow his horn and beckon your call by
his sheer place in line—

first borns and pecking
orders determine your worth and salt, in

pay. The fanfare leaves as you return to normal
and sweep the floors, do the chores left hanging
to dry on laundry lines, whistling, 
as your spouse stares blankly, in utter dismay.

©Jay Mora-Shihadeh

Photo by Paweł Furman on Unsplash