She talks about the book she's reading:
about the Father of the Frost Giants
who steals one of the golden apples
of immortality
but chokes on it and dies.
His skeleton forms
the very Spine of the World
and a seed germinates
in his remains:
its roots penetrate the ice caverns of Hell,
its branches reach the rainbow vaults of Heaven.
I admit to reading comics
about the Mighty Thor
when I was younger
and speculating who was stronger:
him or the Hulk.
But the modern version is more complicated
as there's some ambiguity
about him being a Norse God
and whether it's all delusion.
She segues into another tale
as if I haven't spoken:
about an orchard being re-developed
into office space
and a skeleton found tangled
in the roots of the oldest tree.
Rumours of sacrifice and fertility rites
and local muttering about a curse.
I say: isn't all that druid guff -
silver sickles and mistletoe at dawn
and blood upon the stones -
proven to be Romano-Christian propaganda?
Let me tell you a proper story
about an Englishman, an Irishman and...
Stop me if you've heard it before.
