Once-upon-a-time, a barman worshipped the Sun.
Worked nights so didn’t see much of it
but in his head he’d got stories of
the Fire God supreme,
vanquishing monsters who'd eat out your dreams.
He called the Sun ‘Hero’,
believed it had six pairs of arms,
giant wings of flame
and the handsomest nose in the galaxy.
Made moons blush
and giggle their names.
His Sun was a Hero who rescued smiles
and fed them ideas 'til they were fat with luck.
Faster than a speeding comet,
could see around corners, rewrite destiny,
didn’t break promises,
could even rewire a star.
gave songs to orphans, faith to minstrels,
had the kind of hug you couldn’t touch
underneath your skin.
Barman knew that Sun would come
teach him the Hero's Way.
He could be the Sun’s wise-cracking side kick.
Might even get his own light saber!
On long, lantern lit night shifts
washing drip trays,
Barman kept faith that Sun would come.
It didn’t break promises.
Hurrying home under a rejected moon
he’d hum a tune made from
downing flagons and flying dragons,
race to his flat door.
At 4am every day
he’d get ready for bed,
each time dreaming he’d just stay awake
long enough to see