SBB

A cry, trumpet for the king 
Calling the court into chaos 
As we clatter to our positions. 
Hold our breath, 
In case an offending
Particle emerges from hiding. 
Still,
We stand like mannequins 
After the shuttle rises
And the Sunday crowd fills in.

We hear the crowd shuffling close
And only wish they were 
Casual and cursory 
Window shoppers.
Half a shadow in our door,
The bed sighs and shoves 
A single unwilling hair out.

Why me? it fluttered and looked up
At me. Boots found the sacrifice
Snapping like a hungry dragon and
Under my feet, the 
Vile string of hair struggles.
The room grows small as the 

Entourage files in. Like a punishing
Statue, my right foot leaden,
I must stamp it black and blue
And keep it breathless. 
Paper weight and hope they
Do not check our bearings.

We cannot fail. The court
Is waiting and immaculate and 
Only roaming with stray hair 
If they looked hard. And 
The commanders take their job
Very seriously and really 
Look hard.