he called me *****
when I left the room,
he called me *****,
My tomes of Shakespeare,
witnesses,
fellow poets all, my wall decor.
well familiar with fools,
reported the occurrence
upon my return.
confronted, it,
he did not deny,
for he understood
pointless
at that point,
exceedingly well.
was not angered, simply asking,
since he fancied himself a poet, did
he know any rhymes for that word?
in the interest
of poetic brevity,
answered for him.
*****.
witch.
twitch.
gave him reason to use
those words
sequentially.
after that, he addressed me
as mistress, or *******,
with respect, an attitude
that was previously
menu unavailable.
what then shall we call you?
the Bard,
his Band of Brothers, and I
jointly confabed.
undignified is slave,
Shakespeare opined,
human dignity needs
respecting.
my walled observer,
co-conspirator of
all that transpired,
drew upon his
own source material,
suggested,
knave.
yes, quite apropos,
my considered reply,
a fool always, and still,
after all, was he not
himself not a
son of a *****
as much as I,
Brandy Channing, is, was, daughter, proud, child
of one great and wonderful Queen
*****.
