He was once the hero, standing tall among the Geats,
who slew Grendel and his mother,
struck the mark of Cain from the book of life
and who saved his people from the Dragon,
who perished at the side of Wiglaf
and was burned on top of a pyre,
as a good warrior should be.

Now he is middle management

He wears a tie in place
Of chain mail,
Holds a pen instead of a sword,
His shoes are not meant for
Advancing or retreating,
And so not absorb
The blood of the fallen well.

How, he wonders,
“How did this happen,
I was burned on top of a pyre,
As a good warrior should be.
Was I not a good warrior,
Was I not a hero?”

His Wiglaf,
Coffee-maker, pencil-sharpener,
Proof-reader, pen-getter
Offers no answers,
Only questions.

Do you want me to fix you a cup of coffee now how many lumps of sugar do you take oh
your pen is broken can I get you another one or how about a pencil you don’t use pencil
do you maybe you can start today they can erase your mistakes why is this word
capitalized in the letter I think the margins are too wide but that’s just an opinion isn’t it?

He longs for a king to serve, but
There is no ring-giver,
Only a time-taker, who
Sits on a clock
And hands out coins.

The competitors swarm,
But he is held back.
His sword will not emerge again
It will not reflect sunlight and fear
Into its enemies eyes.

He insists,
“I slew the dragon, I had to die
For it to die,
Yet I see no dragon among us,
So how am I living,
Who brought me here?”

He watches the sun set
Through glass,
Unable to breathe the burning air
Noticing his reflection,
Coming into its own.

Drunk at a Christmas Party,
While he was celebrating the Yule time,
He screamed in his corner,
“I slew Grendel,
And Grendel’s mother,
I slew the dragon,
And I too,
Should have been slain.”