Con Gusto

(In the Realm of Gloriana, II)

We come, as needy travelers to the faire --
Replenish here our store of magic days and wanton nights,
Of memories and dreams.
We wander and we gape, we strut and caper
In our faire apparel, or stately tread
In reverie; we thirst and hunger --
And here - for a faire price -
Such needs are met.
Like some great feast before us spread,
Courses present themselves.

A shady path leads toward exotic tastes;
The scents of Araby invite, the primal rhythm of the drum invokes
Both awe and action. Earthy, warm
Full-fleshed and sinuous,
The green-gowned dryad disappears into the throng --
And appetites aroused must follow.

The broad way of the faire is lit
With heated, open eye of day;
The light - more glare than gleam - glints
On the steely grace of warriors
Wearing their pride and wealth in metal --
Of a baser sort, perhaps, but highly valued, still.
These are the men of iron and leather,
Of sweat and blood and knotted muscle,
Rough and powerful - tools of war
At ready.
Met to slake their thirst.

Turn now and see, at next remove,
Fey maidens voyaging together on adventure --
Fresh faces soft, unformed,
Reedy bodies wrapped in gauzy fantasy;
Not yet awake, yet not quite sleeping --
They scamper - then pause like wary fawns
When predators draw near.
(Such game is tender meat, indeed.)

Gypsy lads, lean beards and flashing teeth,
In packs convene, converse,
Then through the faire
Disperse to gather what they may.
On such a day as this the sport is easy;
Unseen,
Fondle the velvet where the treasure hides,
So gently - touch -
And then be gone again into the moving stream of travelers;
Handsome knaves, deft-fingered,
Plucking hearts
Like sweetmeats from the banquet's rich display.
What flesh do you prefer? What game? What dressing?
And with what relish is your palate piqued?
Behold, the feast is spread - your eyes devour -
Then shall you with a ready tongue
Not enter in?