man
is straight out of a Shakespearean
play.
a Falstaff
fellow with
a red
beard.
he's huge, and lumbering,
red faced
and full
of mirth.
there's a tool belt wrapped
around his
ample waist,
a bag of tools
in his enormous fist,
a box
of what's about to be
replaced
beneath his arm.
which are arms
not unlike legs.
i feel the necessity to feed him,
but i have
no turkey, no venison,
no beef on a femur bone,
no mince meat pies.
i have no ale,
this bottle of spring water
and bowl of nuts will
have to do.
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