What would happen if a mythical being, stepped out of folk legend and turned out to be alive and well and living in a small town in England? But, before having the chance to determine its own course,
was subject to a grilling by the local council?

It might go something like this…

Municipal Legend

After an unfortunate development, 
over a development, councillors were keen 
to reacquaint the suburbs with their mythic past. 
The town museum suggested someone who might help. 
An old recluse, called Jack. 
Often spotted, loitering out on the edge 
of the allotments, by the closed-down swimming baths. 

A junior clerk left a note and later, was rewarded 
with a reply. Scrawled in bright green ink. 
A meeting down the town hall was hastily arranged. 
‘Jack’ shuffled in, creaking as he said – 

“Hello, there, before we start, I have some key conditions.
My former title was Green Man, but as a synoecious 
plant-based being, from now on, 
I’d rather you referred to me, simply as The Green”. 

Officials huddled, whispered to each other, 
before the Mayor replied. “That won’t be a problem. 
Although, we have issues of our own. 
Chiefly, your appearance. Shrubby legs, those vines 
and roots you parade as clothes. We really can’t have that.
This moss, the ancient lichen, you’ll have to shave it off.”

The planning sub-committee chair, joined in. 
Jabbed a warning finger: “And those wrens, yes them,
darting from your shoulder, they’ll need to go. 
Health and safety matter.
Furthermore, you should clarify 
in which direction your facial leaves are heading”

The Green shrugged, suggested, their foliate head, 
be left open to interpretation. That knowing
whether foliage was growing out from,
or entering the mouth, really didn’t matter. 
Regrettably, committee members disagreed. 

‘Aha, that’s a problem then, for us, 
Disgorged leaves and rhizomes may symbolise one thing, 
but if they’re being swallowed…well, that’s quite another issue. 
Hard working people don’t want that kind of muddle 
over their legendary,if disputed, pagan embodiments of nature’. 

And with that, the politics of folklore, hit upon a fatal snag. 

The Green shook a heavy matted, head, and left. 

Uprooted once again.