Saint George & I, Before

I tried to tell them I’m not the dragon.
Imagine a small beast with dreams, laughing—
Full of hot air, yes, but I didn’t blacken
your doorstep. The hot terrors you fashion
could never belong to me. Still, you prayed
for salvation, freedom. Just imagine,

the night before — will poets picture it?
Where the villain gets drunk in the sunset
and the hero too, both drowning regret.
Roll with it - here’s the spear, lean into it.
(He wanted holiness. I had a plan.
Better dead than a hero with a debt…)

If I decide to keep one thing, just one
glittering evening before we were done,
I will pick that night when we watched the sun
dip behind the hills lined with lights like some
red jewel setting; how we noticed it at
the same time. That is my consolation.

Saint George, hush. I know you had little choice.
We know the story; fate speaks with one voice.
You’ll kill me and history will rejoice.
So tell my story, something they’ll enjoy—
and when you say how the dragon was slain,
how your debt was paid, say it was my choice.