The King’s Physician Poem by Stug Jordan

The king’s physician
knew his patient well,

and on the bed,
inflated little effigy laid
king George,

no regalia,
no kingdom but his bed,
a horizontal throne.

Oh, what to do, what to do
thought the doctor.

Poor George inflated
by decay,
wasting day by day.

This won’t do,
said that royal medic,
flicking his needle

which hovered and spat
above the prone
little emperor.

‘God save the king’
he said as he pushed
in the needle,

and watched the king pop
and fly around the room.