yesterday
having discovered late in the game
i am no queen
only a pretender to the throne
i hocked my crown

which brought a pittance
it being nothing but gilted dross
studded with broken bits of colored glass
and paste pearls made
as it turned out
from powdered milk and plaster
neatly glazed with clearcoat

or so the jeweler told me

then burnt my purple
robes and cloaks and gowns alike
the ermine trim obviously fake
as it never flamed but melted
and smelled like nothing so much
as a conflagration in a tire factory

a huge bonfire
that when the wind changed direction
almost burnt down the house as well

the proof of my pretension
is in the way in which i move

all this time la-la-la-ing
thinking i was wandering at will
but when the table tilted toward the mirror
i saw myself sliding in diagonals
only changing direction when i hit a wall
and then caromed
into another narrow corridor
another x marks the spot
neatly demarcated in marble squares

so

no queen

just a stuffy cleric
rigid
orthodox
prescribed

RC deWinter’s poetry is anthologized in New York City Haiku (NY Times, 2017), Uno: A Poetry Anthology (Verian Thomas, 2002), in print in 2River View, Meat For Tea: The Valley Review, Pink Panther Magazine, Down in the Dirt, Scarlet Leaf Review, Genre Urban Arts and in numerous online literary journals.