Saga Eight

His lengthy walk along the river’s bank
Provided Xavier scads of time to think:
Why lead him through a labyrinth scrap by scrap
With clues to sleuth by luck or simple hap?
In thrall to such an informational thrift,
He snacked on runes, on crumbs of knowledge thrived.
This mindset made the lurching longboats seem
A raft of symbols, no two quite the same.
Refusing for a time to chase the bait,
At Norseman’s statue Xavier took a seat.
By puzzles and by hunger nearly crazed,
A mighty sandwich to his mouth he raised—
At Reading Terminal he’d bought the wheaten loaf
That to his craving maw he now would lift.
Before he’d drained his grape juice to its dregs
He eyed a woman standing on one leg;
That single stilt descended from her skirt
And ended with her sneaker in the dirt.
Her other leg she from a park bench took
And leaned upon it like a shepherd’s crook,
But taking Xavier’s staring as a snub,
Then turned her wooden limb into a club.
The hefty member to the sky was thrust,
To X a weapon powerful as Thor’s.
The woman showed a supernatural skill
In bearing legs to cause another ill.
He tried to duck, but still was soundly hit;
X wondered how much worse his day could get.
The uniped berserker lashed with anger,
And woe to any mortal who would wrong her.
Only when her blows had made her weak
Could Xavier crawl away, his spirits bleak.
The victor loudly gloated at the slaughter
And as he fled her taunts came crashing after.
Her scathing calls berated Xavier’s flaw,
For which the woman harsh laid down the law:
“The next time you would stare at someone’s gear
Remember how I evened up the score;
I hope you never need another scare.”
He dragged his battered body through the muck,
And cast himself anew as X the Meek.

[13:00 / lunching / heroic couplets / legs / Viking statue (Thorfinn Karlsefni)]