The Stone of Destiny
written by: Gaius Coffey
The imposter’s imposture could not be borne,
Like the clothes of the victims he’d frequently worn.
It could not continue, it needed to stop,
Though I couldn’t discern the imposter to chop.
His disguise, I could see, was quite the top notch,
From the tilt of his nose to the bulge in his crotch;
The angles, the style, the posture, the stance,
Looked like the other on a casual glance.
The one was called Freddy, a member of staff,
The other might kill with a carefree, cruel laugh.
The other’s achievements in life, fair to say,
Were stolen, adopted, and placed under sway.
Approaching his life in ways parasitic,
If copying’s praise, he was not a harsh critic.
But standing before me like Jonnie and Clyde,
False and authentic, them both side by side.
The one on the left may be real or be fake,
The one on the right the same, a namesake.
If I ended the left one to discover the right,
Was really the fake one I needed to smite,
How to continue; the original lying,
In a pool of his blood, painfully dying?
What if instead my blade found its mark,
And the fake one instead is whose world I turned dark?
Would Freddy be grateful I’d saved him his life,
Or take umbrage at killing his like with my knife?
I needed a test case to help me proceed,
I considered Freddy, his word and his deed.
There had to be something with which I could filter,
The fake from the real, the kilt from off kilter,
For Freddie Macnee was Scots through and through,
Where his doppelgang’ ganged from far Timbuktu,
The fake one might never have tasted a haggis,
The real one could spot when a kilt made of rag is.
With tatties and neaps I decided to try,
With diligent care the fake to espy,
I placed down two plates, placed side-by-side,
And to one of the plates was their fate by neaps tied.
One seized a fork, the other a knife.
Shaking, I realised the risk to my life,
When both speared a tattie, then both ate a neap,
Both sliced off haggis and started to creep,
Forwards to empty the second plate there,
My trap had thus failed as a cunning wee snare,
The plan I’d best laid had gang much agley,
And thither not hither my victory lay.
With both plates now empty, I offered a scone,
My last ditch attempt for the pure one to hone.
The first one saluted, one hand to his head,
The next reached for butter, I slew him quite dead.
The imposter’s imposture failed deep down within:
The scone was the stone one clach-na-cinaemhuinn.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
The Stone of Scone is also known as the Stone of Destiny or more properly clach-na-cinaemhuinn and was stolen by the Brits after subjugating the Scots. In Irish and Scots Gaelic, the mh can become a v sound (as in Niamh, pronounced ‘neev’), so clach-na-cinaemhuinn is something like ‘clock na keenyaveen’ — actual Irish or Gaelic speakers feel free to correct me.
- The Stone of Destiny - June 9, 2026
- Mary Had a Stalker - March 19, 2026
