Pickup Poem Day 24

D&D

Page,

bring me my Ticonderoga, its schoolbus

beam, its soft point. I mean to draft

the bones of a legend out of fate

and paperbacks shoplifted

from memory. He will storm--

which is to say, fumble to--the world

of consequence. Every face 

on the platonic resin is the same,

save value. Not fair but true, a chance

to kill, grab, be. God is at the table;

take notes. My world learns

adolescent, worries about armor

and range of effect. Monstrous

cliques must follow. I choose

the tavern this time, the woven mask

of mission. I want--we all want--not

to die too soon or too far from the plot.

If we survive this stupid, teenage plague

and not press blemishes so hard they scar

that will be the story.