Conan, Stuck in Line at the DMV
Stuck in line at the DMV
time sliding by like a methadone drip
I am overwhelmed by the certainty
that life wasn’t supposed to be like this.
We are the spawn of survivors,
a hardy race, bred for running distances,
fit for toppling kingdoms,
building empires,
and jetting the stuff of more arrogant republics.
My people, we have not survived these centuries to become herd animals.
So I stand on a chair and I intone these sacred words,
Between the time when the oceans drank Atlantis
and the rise of the sons of Aryas,
there was an age undreamed of.
And unto this, Conan,
destined to wear the jeweled crown of Aquilonia upon a troubled brow.
It is I, his chronicler, who alone can tell thee of his saga.
Let me tell you of the days of high adventure!
Not only does no one join in,
they ask me to leave.
Snobs.
Even if they don’t have the blood of heroes running through their veins,
How can they not love poetry?