Tuesday, March 07, 2006

my kingdom come

Look at this fine crown-
starry and bright
it sits on my head
like a minaret.
I wear it at all time
to remind my subjects
of... well, their subjectivity.

My kingdom?
Smallish, oddly shaped.
Were someone
(cartographer? impressionist?)
to put it to a map
I would insist on choosing the colors.
I do have some sway.
I am far less concerned
with boundaries and such.

My hold on it is wispy,
as thin as a widow’s veil.
Revolution brews under the doormat.
Radicals crouch in every corner
and construct clever schemes,
draw complex diagrams.
They rub their hand together
as they dream of my demise.

I was born to this-
heir to chaos,
inbred and redundant.
It is all I know.
The trappings fit me
like a perfect, truer skin.
I stir up the occasional scandal
to remind the proletariat that I am privy
to a realm of sin
that is beyond them,
debauchery on a plane
they dare not imagine.

My impotence is legendary
but I am undisturbed by that silliness.
I do my job-
invoke a bit of fear,
present the good face
to our rag-tag, worthless allies.
I wear the ermine and the emeralds
and indulge sometimes
in a wine-soaked dream of abdication.

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