Jack Ketch

by Lisa M. Griffiths

Jack Ketch

by Lisa Griffiths

I shall be bold and call myself clever
As I make escape with a bag full of coin
Tis none my fault, no, not ever
That simpletons let their wares be purloined
 
I have no need for such stealth blade
My weapons be charm and wit
Here I am yet again having made
Off with the shillings of a local twit
 
Now to celebrate unscathed at ye old ale house
For a true thirst I have need
Tho I shan’t be as furtive as a mouse
In disheveled disguise I take my mead
 
In crowded room luck lets me find
A table for to rest my golden weight
The innkeeper obliges me in kind
With tankard and bread with plate
 
No sooner I slake my thirst than came
A weary traveler the worse for wear
Looking to quaff, as I the same
And ambled over toward me near
 
“May I join ye?” he asks with a grin
“Aye, you may,” says I, softened voice
“You look a tired soul, do sit in
I will pay, but what be your choice?”
 
Strong ale for him, he starts a talk
Of thrice escaping the deadly noose
He looks a fool, but I dare not mock
My scarf feels tight, I must make loose
 
Much sweat have I and ask his name
“Jack Ketch,” says he, with eyes of blue
Now comes clear to me the end of game
“And I bear a rope made just for you.”
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Strong ale for him, he starts a talk
Of thrice escaping the deadly noose
He looks a fool, but I dare not mock
My scarf feels tight, I must make loose

-from “Jack Ketch,” by Lisa M. Griffiths

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