by Orel Protopopescu

“Macbeth shall never vanquished be until
Great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane Hill
Shall come against him.”
—Macbeth Act IV, Scene I

I don’t like football. Never go.
The name Bad Bunny seemed inane
to me until his half-time show
took me through waving sugar cane.

Green leaves, blue words, advanced like fate,
like Birnam Wood to Dunsinane,
to keep a raunchy, joyful date
with destiny: month two, day eight.

Green power glittered in a tide
of barrios on bunny feet.
And who could miss his sly aside?
I sing about a king’s defeat.

Americas came out and sang
with Bunny in his suit, cool-white,
in Puerto Rican Spanish slang
well-flecked with sex to give it bite.

His playful show was not the thing,
alas, when all was said and done,
that caught the conscience of a king,
because our would-be king has none.