A FAIR TRADE?

She found it for the best to have about her an umbrella
when riding a comets tail chasing the solar winds
you see an umbrella when opened afforded her a safer, more
predictable landing upon those rare orbs where gravity held sway
 
“I’ve seen more life in a tramps vest than within this wretched infinite space and time. It is thus I feel compelled to alight…to touch down…to savour the clatter and hustle of people and places where dualism prompts the delicious activities of mind and body,” so said this extraneous mischief maker
 
High up upon the windswept granite moor behind bolted
tavern doors in a land where sheep outnumbered populous
where goats and ponies had long since dislodged wolves and wild cats
where erratic ‘love-hate’ weather was the only real beast of prey
she, now in serving wench mode dished out porter and strong ale
to a motley crew of miscreants and run ragged clergy alike, all
topping up their already ‘full to the gunnels’ grotesque beer bellies
 
That the clientele of dubious morals and manners remained
‘after hours’ was to bear witness to her songs both bawdy and blasphemous
lewd and crude, no stone left unturned, fabled far and wide
 
Later though, when rip roaring volatility gave way to sleepy heads
resting on oak table tops in an ‘almost silence’ of snoring, farting
the occasional ‘best swallow sharpish’ belch also, she would call time
send the whole horde away to their beds, lovers and swine
 
In her heart of hearts she knew it was only a matter of time before
her one-armed centurion arrived from a beaten and battered Gaul
out of his epoch and into hers before the cockerel’s first crow, naturally
 
The pair once had been ‘intimate’ back in the days
when a rising Rome still saluted those about to die
 
“What on heavens earth are you doing in this pig sty of a place girl?”

“Playing…or perhaps I should say about to play tricks with a counterfeit Kings shilling as is my current want…it’ll wind up the locals when I slip it in their drinks and they shit themselves at the very thought the Press Gang are about”
 
“Ah the threat of a watery grave…how very cruel of you…long time no see”
 
“Why did you seek me out?”
 
“Surely you always knew that one day I would want my arm back…so attached to it as I was!”
 
“True yet was it not you who once said you’d give your right arm to have me…a fair price to pay”
 
“Changed my mind”
 
“Too late…you had me!”
 
“What say you give back my arm and I give you my heart?”
 
“Why should I?”
 
To a one time more or less tamed shrew to be taken for a ride
by a two-timing centurion who’s notoriety with the ladies went before
him demanded that the ‘pre the event’ proffered appendage be hers
so while he slept within the legionary encampment following the
Battle of Cissa she seized the opportunity even thieving his own much
cherished Gladius for the cut before taking flight beyond the aurora borealis
 
“Profess true love and I might just acquiesce…beseech, threaten or woo and you have no chance…think on it for now I sleep”
 
While the temporal one was in slumber
an old soldier, her umbrella in his solitary fist
made haste for a distant horizon where all
was becalmed, a place free from solar winds