MASTERPIECE #3444

/// It’s Epiphany and The King Drinks.
(Not the real King; tonight’s for hijinks.)
He’s the Lord of Misrule,
Twelfth Night’s carnival fool.
Sired a bottomless toddler who stinks.

/// Time for turn-abouts, joy and excess,
when the rules that oppress them regress.
At this time, once a year,
they can mock those they fear.
The drunk downtrodden can decompress.

/// They were frustrated, angry and restive,
‘til this feast gave them leave to be festive.
Not much food at the feast,
but as drinking increased,
women’s cleavage grew much more suggestive.

/// The idea here is no prohibitions
on strong drink to erase inhibitions.
They are breaking the peace
to achieve a release
and to try out some tricky positions.

/// On this night there are no rules to follow.
One drunk dribbles— forgot how to swallow.
In the morn when they wake
heads and bellies may ache,
but their words of regret will ring hollow.

/// Christian church and state co-opt carousal,
with drink, music and dance and arousal.
Pagans practiced these revels,
(redefined now as devils),
and the hook-ups are not always spousal.

/// The powers-that-be use this scheme
as a safe way to let off some steam.
They can play-act the hellion,
(if there’s no true rebellion),
and real progress remains just a dream.