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~ By Courtesy of Others ~

The Near Marriage of Thrym: The Groom’s Perspective

I want and I wait
For a woman who comes
A bride being brought
As bribe for a hammer.
I have right here
A hammer for her.
T-tunic is tentlike
I am tense with joy.

She enters with escort
And elephantine grace
Her footstaps so fierce;
Like falling thunder.
I fancied that Freja
Was smaller of frame.
The odor of oxen
Is on her heavily.

Very well veiled is she;
But visible still.
A hairy chin shows she
Really should have shaved;
She boasts a backside
Bountiful; but mannish
I find myself frightened;
Do fries come with that shake, Freja?

I glimpse bodice that boasts
A bosom oceans wide
But flat as a floormat
I am flustered to see
A back with hairs like hides
Of horses in winter
And why wear a helm
When wed, I wonder . . .

'May I have the hammer?'
She husky-voiced asks-
‘Tis below my belt’ I say
‘you’ve but to find it.’
Furry forearm reaches
To find hidden Mjolnir.
Groping my Garments-
‘Getting Warmer’ I warn.

As she seeks and searches
I slide my hands on her
What’s this? I wonder-
She wears below belly-
A mace at her midriff?
I marvel at it’s heft
With sac on either side
For storing coins, no doubt.

Finally she finds it;
And frees thunder hammer;
Dress drops revealing
Decidedly male bride.
Thor is thoroughly pissed;
And throws his tool about.
Death will soon be dealt
By cross-dressing deity.

© Dunstan LeHeryngmongere, SCA, aka Keith Nealson

Note: This poem mostly follows Fornyrðislag (Old Meter).

Image: "Thor disguised as Freya", © Giovanni Caselli

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