Falstaff and Me
The Unsown Field: Canto 5
October 17, 2019

When isabelline fibrils through the leaves
shed beams upon his face, like some cruel joke
pretending redness that the eye perceives,

our hero, somehow still alive, awoke.
“Oh god, my head!” quoth he, “Why God? My head!
It spins, and I can feel its nagging stroke.

Oh please remove it, take my life instead!”
“Why, soon enough.” —A feminine reply!
“Aw, crud!” If Geoffrey could, he would have fled.

For he recalled that voice. He cracked an eye
and then another, let it all rush in,
embraced the painful brightness of the sky.

Burve and a boy he took to be her kin
regarded him as if unsure to greet.
Like Burve, the boy beside her had green skin.

Unshod and with bare shoulders, limbs, and feet,
attired they were in bark which roots had sewn.
Though pleasantly, they sort of smelled like peat.

The boy was maybe eight, or maybe under-grown,
and Burve was Geoffrey’s age; but that assumes
to know how green folks age, and that’s unknown!

“Look brother, how the Schaudenfreude looms!
I told myself ‘I’ll tear his limbs asunder
if our acquaintance once again resumes.’”

“My head! Please whisper, oh, it sounds like thunder!”
But she went on: “Now, I must sweetly tell you,
accusing me like that was such a blunder!

What shall I do? Shall I to sailors sell you?
Or shall I tie you down, till myrm-ants farm you,
and gaily watch their fiery ant-bites swell you?

Oh boy! What fun it is to just alarm you!
‘cause way you look, anticipation aches
as much to know how much I mean to harm you.

Revenge is sweeter when more time it takes,
so know up front: the worst will come to pass.”
Quoth he: “Have mercy, please, for goodness sakes!

Pity me in this pickle, fair green lass!
Be you so mean to mean me so much ill?
Why, when I lay so helpless on the grass?”

“What! Why?! You dare ask why? How even still—
One! Day! You wrong me, then forget so quick?
Just know: the elder struck me with her quill.

So thanks for ruining my life, you prick.”
Quoth he: “That’s awful vague; she struck you how?
But no, I cannot care when I’m so sick.

I see I caused you grief, but hear me now,
for woe befell me more than woe to you.
I’ll tell you what they are if you’ll allow.”

“Allowing gives you hope. That will not do,”
quoth she, “but so you see I’m not unfair…”
She sat beside him, signalling his queue.

His story thus: “I, taken unaware
by fires a stone’s throw off the old dirt road,
unto a carnival, some roaming fair—

It bodes ill passing, carnival’s abode —
You pay a price each time the price is free.
I feel like — how to put it — a commode.

It seemed so nice at first, the sights to see,
the cotton candy—” “—Cotton candy! What? Wait!”
she interjected. “This is too much for me!

Ooh, I can’t even! Don’t say you really ate
that stuff, you silly dolt. Did you not know?
It tears you up, makes you inebriate!

No tactics, no ‘meal first,’ no quid pro quo…
Nobody eats the cotton candy, hon.
Without it, you’d have liked that trav’ling show!

Oh, I can’t stand it! This is too much fun!”
She gripped her sides, collapsed, and laughed and rolled.
“Gullible dunce! How eas’ly you’re undone!”

She laughed and laughed, till tears she could not hold.
The younger boy just stood and looked confused.
Quoth Geoffrey: “Lady green, don’t be so cold.

Perhaps it’s fair that I be so abused,
but now we’re even. So as friends amend,
forgive that minor trick when I accused—”

How fast her disposition now did bend
when triggered by these careless words unchecked.
“Forgive! Your soul to hell I’ll gladly send.

What bread you buttered then, I’ll now collect.
To buy a wasted night, you then did flee.
Poor fool, prepare: It’s time that you get wrecked.”

To younger boy: ”Now run along swee’pea.
It’s inappropriate for little boys
to witness what’s to come twixt him and me.”

“No stay!” quoth Geoffrey, “Mercy has its joys,
O grassy damsel. See your little buddy,
th’example that he shows you with his poise?

This sweet young boy with verdant cheeks so ruddy?“
(Indeed this boy stayed put and blankly stared.)
Quoth Burve: “You fool me not, his cheeks are muddy.

I said go off and play, Ghoh, if you cared.”
“No, Stay, Ghoh, stay!” quoth Geoffrey, “Stop her please!
Had I but known just how you would have fared!

If well enough, I’d ask on bended knees,
O pretty lady kendal green, to me
please spare… or kill, I cannot stand the tease.

But first, hear one last word, my final plea:
For rocks at trees? I thought there’d be no fine
for such a small offense. It was a tree!

My mood was rightfully as sweet as brine
last night; and don’t forget you weren’t so nice.
I thought you’d do some chores, like weave some twine

(do green kids do that?) — pay some petty price.
How could I know what punishment you’d get!
I pranked you, thought it was a harmless vice.

Please know, all this I truly do regret.”
She looking unimpressed, but still some mercy lent.
Quoth she to Ghoh: “What do you think, my pet?”

At last the younger boy spoke: “How you vent!
But just what good it does us, sister dear?
Revenge will not undo our punishment.”

Upright sat Burve. To Geoffrey she leaned near.
Upon his brow she gently placed her hand.
“My little brother won’t obey, I fear.

So here’s your chance: so that I understand,
what caused the mood that threw the rocks and me
alike at elder mother’s reprimand?”

The realization struck him hard. Quoth he:
“Strange, I was lost! From where, though? I forgot!
My mem’ry! Where’d you go? Oh boy. Oh gee!”

Quoth she: “Don’t panic. Seems you’ve seen a lot—”
“No, not enough! All from my mem’ry strike!
What evil has that cotton candy brought!”

Quoth she: “You don’t make sense, you’ll only psych
yourself out, dummy bean. What do you mean?”
Cried he: ”I can’t recall what home looks like!

Where was I coming from? Where had I been?”
At this he bawled. Burve said with patient sighs:
“Man up, you wuss. Try use a little spleen.”

She felt his brow and neck. “You reälize
there’s little ’bout that I can do for you.
And — Stop that, Ghoh, don’t mock his cries —

and dummy bean, you’ve too much outdoor dew,
too little water. Fever’s catching on,
Indeed I think you’re taking on my hue.

What would you do to make our grudge be gone?
Tell me, my dolt, how can this thing be ended?
Resentment needs a sword to fall upon.”

Quoth he: “Your woes are still not comprehended,
but — only way it’s fair — I have to fix it.”
Quoth Ghoh: “He can’t undo what Quill intended!”

“Again, that’s vague,” quoth Geoffrey. “Quill that pricks it?
But I’ve not long. I feel like beer and liquor.
Though young, I know what happens when you mix it.

The elder mother with a quill she’d prick her?
How vague a punishment… Sounds not so bad…
And yet I feel so bad that I did trick her…”

His story weak, though some effect it had:
Her airs of anger had begun to slip.
No longer showing signs of being mad,

she dropped that ruse upon his final quip.
“Now don’t drift off, my dolt, you can’t stay here.
Though sick, it’s time you took a trip.

You must get well if you’re to steer
us through the maze of mother elder’s quills.
I hope this dolt of mine’s a dolt first tier.”

“‘This dolt of mine!’ It somehow gives me chills.
I have a name, you know.” “You never said it.”
“Geoffrey.” “So be it, Doormat Geoffrey wills.”

Suspicious, Geoffrey said: “I clearly read it:
You’ll take me where? A trick to get me back!
My offer, Burve? To you-know-where embed it!”

Sighed she: “Hung-over boys do have a knack
to undermine their own diplomacy!
But still for now, we’ll have each other’s back.

Suspicion’s understandable, I see.
For no one’s ever known to call me sweet.
But while you’re mine your name is Dolt, till free.”

“‘But while you’re mine!’ ‘Till free!’” he did repeat.
Quoth she: “An honor system is in place.
You won’t run off or from your duty cheat.

I trust you partly, partly read your face.
If you help me I’ll help you too, and try
put back what cotton candy did erase.

Is that a deal? Together do or die?”
Quoth he: “It seems committal, not my thing,
but then again what other choice have I?”

“It’s not as if I’m asking you to sing.
You need some water, first. And then stand up.
Oh Ghoh, dear, will you please some water bring?”

Ghoh shrugged, and from their basket got a cup.
He pulled a cork and earthy liquor poured.
Quoth Burve: “Now drink this toddy down, my pup.”

“Can you stand unassisted?” she implored.
She put his hand upon her smooth green shoulder.
Unused to girls so close, it struck a chord,

and though she’s green he did feel ten years older,
then by a sudden change in altitude
felt tall then small, worse, better, hotter, colder.

Quoth she: “I do not mean to be so rude,
But don’t throw up, not while you stand so nigh.”
Thus awkwardly embraced, the two were glued.

“Your eyes!” quoth he. “Your breath!” quoth she, “Oh my!
Don’t talk so close, or I’m the one who pukes.
You see a different color eye to eye.

It’s called — Don’t speak! All hope your breath rebukes;
don’t speak out loud, or it will be my doom —
called het’rochromia: one of nature’s flukes.”

Thought Ghoh: “It seems the springtime bloom
has got the better of that brain of Burve’s.
And yeesh! These two should get a room.

He‘ll be distracted by her female curves.
She‘ll be distracted by bishōnen fluff.
But pigs will fly when each the other serves!

‘We’ll back each other’ — yech, what schmaltzy stuff!
No way he can undo ma elder’s spell.
He’s by no measure any kind of ‘rough,’

and soon enough she’ll realize that as well.
The elder mother’s curse she’ll then recall;
they’ll say of him: ‘oh how his fortunes fell!’”

Quoth Burve: “I’ll let you go if you don’t fall.”
He staggered some, and took a step or two.
“Hey watch it! Kids got no respect at all!”

“Oh, sorry, fern…Why FERN! Can it be true?
You’re real!” “Of course I’m real, you troglodyte!
You talk like talking ferns are something new.”

“Forgive me, fern. Delirium last night;
I thought you’re just a part of all of that.
Now fern, meet Burve. And this one — Ghoh? — is hight.

Now what to name you?” “Fern, you dim punk brat!”
“If he be Ghoh, then I shall name you Stahp,
but spelled uniquely; ‘Stop’ is too old hat.

Now once again, we’ll take it from the top.
Burve-Stahp, Stahp-Burve, the same for Stahp and Ghoh.
Stahp is my conscience, a preemptive cop.”

“How many times and ways can I say no!
From wise old folks these kids’ll never learn.
I’ll try be hip: I’m not your conscience, bro!”

Quoth Burve: “Your conscience, as a fern,
can’t travel far— But wait! I have a thought!”
Quoth Stahp: “Oh god no, NO! I’d rather burn!”

Quoth Burve: “Good thing this basket here we brought.”
They dug him up ‘gainst protests — how he’d whine! —
and transferred irate Stahp from earth to pot.

Quoth Burve: “Here in my basket he’ll do fine.
Come Stahp, come Ghoh, our transit won’t be brief.
You too, my dummy bean, sweet dolt of mine!”

The common folk might stare in disbelief
at what they’d see about that time in May.
For, walking hand in hand in hand in leaf,

these oddballs set out on their merry way.