Minor Arcana

The King of Pentacles sits on his throne,
      knees spread wide.

At his feet the wolf-dog curls,
      bright blue eyes half-closed
      as wild things sleep,
      ears perked for danger.

His purple robe falls open at the chest,
      arms bare, lean, and spare.

Before him a page or lackey holds
      a scroll with numbers scrawled
      in long columns unfurled for his review:

"I've always been better,"" he mutters,
      "at making money than counting it,"
      but he is pretty good at that too.

If the page recalls another master,
      the wolf-dog snarls,
      shares his teeth.