'twas a time of risk
to rule the throne,
foreign skies stole his queen,
framed mischief in the shape
of her childbearing hips,
spun a web as thick as thieves,
went for broke with the catapult,
and sent his merry dreams
up in smoke.

'twas a time of risk
to wear the crown,
arrows to cleave thy heart,
jealous siblings in want of their own
ruby covered kingdom,
pushing thorny daggers
into one's side.

where kings die first
they drink from the poison cup,
tell all thee faithful villagers
only two weeks more
until the clouds lift,
and their precious queen
shall return to re-pollute their minds
with a new philosophy,
a new misogyny:
women's hatred of women,
killing her daughter's father
for a song and dance,
and the outside chance
she can ride on top.

there the lingering scent
of betray, dismay, this day,
and a closing ******
will reach over the castle wall.

on some besotted morning,
painted as the saccharine sky,
she'll wave at Jehu's returning chariot,
and he will press her handmaids
into service by having them
toss her to the dogs.