Absence
from home life is essential to
balm
the tedium of everyday thistle,
cast
an eye over the world’s scatter,
deliver
a dance or two,
even
share the sofa with a luxurious feline
five
times sleepier than you.
Gregarious
hosts aren’t castle owners
hot
to accommodate the inevitable feasting
invited
by a visit from the Earl of Cherry St
(“just
in the neighborhood”) so he
kicks
back at your kitchen table.
Leisure
was fine work in the 11th century.
Monarchs
traveled with a camp of followers
not
just horn blowers and squawkers but bands
of
strolling players; dancing bear trainers; buffoons on
personal
retainer; beggars snatching at crusts; and women holding
queue
in dark lots until the wine
ran
thin, the barns and larders
stripped
and the King’s
train
on its way like the plague
unloosed
on a new resting place.
Visits
of modern day temper
wanderlust
in houseguests, can
exalt
the keepers to the kept,
yield
longing in the houses to swap
zip
codes and rest.
