“Mendacious Monarchs”

in worn off make-up
her foundation crumbling
she is a manicured mercenary
a princess with no kingdom to rule
chasing men, drinking white liquor
lying about her where abouts
she has known hands
at her hips
known for her smile,
known for the grind of her waist
like a conductor
keeping time
for a orchestra of captive onlookers
thirsty eyes, hungry lips,
the horn section of cannibal cat calls

how she loves the attention
her mother’s daughter
her father’s mistake
she wanders the city
looking for any man willing to fill
the vacant spaces of her widowed heart

her first kiss was a smashed promise
her first love is her own voice
her false pride the handle bars of the head board
how she can swindle secrets
from private members in private places
she can barely remember her fidelity
her loyalty, her innocence
all woman, all ashtray and stiletto

she steals away hours at bar stools
a closet full of purses, designer pencil skirts,
stretch pants and skeletons
her lip gloss shimmers with curse words
Mac lip gloss, and the bitter glitter of back biting
friends she has swallowed, others she has betrayed
she is convinced of her own divinity
but would a Queen ever be caught dead
among the pirates, vultures, and wicked wizards that she covets

what fairy tales were you reading?

what lies were you told,
that keep you out this late
on a week night,
over drunk
asking for cigarettes and rides home?


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