I Am Who I Make Myself

All eyes on me

While being flashy

So the courtiers’

Perception is deceived

By:

The villagers’

Raucously shrieking

Stare at William Tell

While we quietly

Send out best sneaks

Around these trees

In dirt brown

And peasant green

And all of us

Roles each

Bloated food service

And heavy wines

And jesters madly

Gesturing to bide time

And get all the

Royalty sloppy.

We all

Get to help

Make a trick

Not magic.

I bet the real shot

Either:

Flew

Very very high

So all eyes

Would stay fixed

On the imperceptable line

In the sky

Or more likely:

William Tell ruined his bow

For no joke

Dropped the arrow

Because if it all set up well

No one but those

Who know

Will it to look

Away from the child

Or their hands

They must always

See

Or imagine

The end

But

Looking back:

No more hunting

With a broken bow

After a dry fire.

Consider:

With such risk

To a child?

A story with flow

Is too much

To have made alone:

And if there was no trick

The village would have

Thrown him to the wolves

The night beforehand.

What William

Would there be

To tell of

Then?

And the kid?

Adopted by them all

Instead.