The sky is blue. The grass is shifty green.
The kingdom is on autopilot now
and David has some time to look. She’s seen.
He questions should he, could he, and then how?
Bathsheba’s bathing on her warm rooftop.
She wonders if the king can see her there.
The beast can’t make its wagging tail stop.
It fears they’ll go and cool off somewhere.
He has a wife too many, he’d admit.
She has a husband also after all.
He wonders how to grasp the horns of it.
The beast is charging for an early fall.
The sky is green. The grass is baby blue.
Uriah’s coming home tomorrow, too.
A submission to Chel Owen’s Terrible Poetry Contest. This week’s theme is a “sonnet about a period/historical romance”.
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