Soup kitchens of the Bowery clothe and feed a queen:
my lazy bones, my stray thoughts need a queen.
Elizabeth wrote her sonnets in the blood
of martyred papists—now, let's read a queen!
My lips and fingers pray a chaplet to the Virgin,
mirror of patience, seat of wisdom; daily, I bead a queen.
I'm quite the green thumb at royal gardening!
I till the soil and scatter; indeed, I seed a queen.
On bent knee, I gaze up into my love's fierce eyes
wise of me: to hush, to listen, to heed a queen.
Bugger the patriarchy (gently!) with a cactus:
I ask you, who's most suited to lead? A queen!
Poetry by Uncle Meridian
Read 265 times
Written on 2022-01-09 at 09:59
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one trick pony