TURTLE
The coven
or most of it
huddles in a circle
with dim lights and a low beat
vibrating up through our bones
attending to the occasion's
solemnity
"Another round Sam" says Athena
Sam the day man at
the Lady's Horn Saloon
brings over a tankard
"Don't let the boss see you" he scowls
"Is this a good vintage?" asks Weed
"Beer has no vintage young man
yet I am sure you will be well
impressed by its pungent aroma
and the pretensions of its label"
"Thanks Sam" says Athena
Our high priestess
the night bartender
goes on in twenty minutes
but we have business to finish
"Are you a Turtle?" she glances
at each of us in turn
Mindy and I shake our heads
Weed averts his
rolling his eyes upward
Redwolf starts to mutter
but Athena waves her
slender olive fingers
and he falls silent
"A Turtle" she continues
"is a member of a certain
drinking society best known
for purity of thought
and clean living
"To merit true initiation into
this august order of inebriates
a supplicant must demonstrate
cleanliness of soul by passing
the Turtle Purity Test"
"That lets me out" laughs Mindy
Always ready for
a fools challenge
I nod my fool's head
Athena begins
"What grows so far out of
a man's pajamas that he
can hang his hat upon it?"
Nobody answers
I drink some beer
"His head of course" she says
We all drink some beer
"Give me a four-letter word
ending in k that people
love to do with each other?"
Duh
"They talk" she says
Well yea sometimes in
between the other stuff
"And finally tell me what
gentlemen do standing up
ladies do sitting down and
dogs do on three legs?"
I spy Redwolf smirking at Sam
who is undoubtedly returning
the favor
"They shake hands" she says
I wonder if
I will ever attain
the higher levels
of mystical awareness
"Sparrow and Mindy" Athena nods
"having been properly instructed
in the art of clean thinking
you are hereby initiated
as a Turtle in Good Standing"
I raise my tankard
one last time
"Now it's important to know that
Turtles all have pet donkeys
whom they love so much that
they have been known to
swear oaths by them
"So from this moment on
if anyone should ask
if you are a Turtle you
must reply and only reply
"You Bet You're Sweet Ass I Am"
That does it
we blow out our drinks
Redwolf grinning like
a well fed scavenger
"and" she continues
"if you answer any other way
you owe that person and
everyone in the bar a drink
or if you are not in a bar
everyone within earshot"
"You serious?" asks Mindy
"She's serious" shouts Sam
"Story goes" says Redwolf
"that back in the sixties
when John Glenn was in
the process of becoming the
first man to orbit the Earth
"amid all of the tech chatter
between his spacecraft and
Mission Control broadcasting
live around the world suddenly
somebody on the ground asked
'Commander Glenn
are you a Turtle?'
"For a brief moment
the civilized world
just stopped
"and then from the great
ice cooler of space Glenn
echoed these famous words
'Mission Control
I owe you a drink'
"and when he returned he went
to Houston and bought everyone
a round"
"You really believe that?" asks Weed
"Do you believe in magic?" asks Athena
Then she slowly rises
a vine curling towards
the last rays of the sun
and starts tending bar
* * *
Athena also initiated me
into the Craft of the Wise
although many months later
and not in her bar
We're slow dancing together
at Mindy's engagement party
(she had several that year)
in a swank south Jersey
country club which neither
of us could afford to join
I mention that I still
haven't earned my stripes
that I am still toiling
as it were
in the Wiccan Reserves
"I'll initiate you"
she whispers into my ear
just above the sultry
rhythms of good Samba
I ask why
after all this is
serious business
"I think my sweet Sparrow
we've known one other long enough
to pass along the lunatic's power
and it's such a lovely ceremony
anyway you dance very smoothly"
"I've stepped on your feet twice"
"You're a Turtle aren't you?"
"I suppose so"
"And you're buying me a drink
aren't you?"
"I suppose so"
Having somehow lost the rhythm
I duck my head into my shell
as we turn about the floor
one long last time
the orchestra's
decrescendo
quietly
fading
away
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This poem is from On Pagan Roads Copyright © 2004 David Arv Bragi