Taking the Fifth

The ancient man whose one athletic bound
plonked him on the girder looking downed
and outed shouted to the crowd below
that he was God or would be could he grow
the powers needed, grow into the role.
‘Until that time,’ he cried, ‘I’ll be a troll.’
He jumped from the girder bannistering the bridge
to a depth at which the natural laws abridge
leaving him no soul, just the elements essential:
the classic four you know, and the quintessential
fifth essence we discovered in a ridge
of his jaw now relic in our church’s fridge.

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