It has been weeks since I have had anything ready for my Saturday poetry swap with Fred, poet laureate of The Tool Palace. Saturday he made it clear that I needed to jack hammer my writer's block out of the way and bring him a poem. Since he wrote a poem about Tool Palace last week from his perspective, I decided to write one from mine.
The Men of the Palace
The Men of the Palace
are waiting there
on Saturdays at noon.
And I, the only lady fair,
with escort, join them soon.
Some are the wizards,
and some the wits, but
jesters all can be.
They sit, for they are aged and tired,
yet yield a chair to me.
There's wisdom
to be gathered there
if one can sift it out
from the multitude of stories
they like to throw about.
They sit, as if
to guard the door,
yet none could stop a thief.
Customers coming in the store
must wonder who these could be.
When the men of the Palace
filled with tools
make a place for me
among the stools,
I feel like royalty.
1/20/26
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