How can she
crow it over my sisters properly
with their eyes plucked out?
They can’t see her
                              in all her splendour.
Myself? I admit I’m disappointed
to be down a bootlicker, but
I never really cared
                                for all my sisters’
scheming. The prince was already showing
signs of corpulence in my dancing days.
And as for her –
                           she knows how to tinkle
out that ‘Pa-pa’ to-a-tee, and
has even learned which fork to use.
(She’ll never forget
                                 appearing as a society
DON’T in the pages of the glossies.)
She has learned how to play the media
beautifully.
                  No mention of me for months.
She can’t wheel out my cruelty when
I haven’t been afflicted as the other two were.
Moralising, and all that.
                                       Without me,
the story’s much more nicely rounded.
An eye for an eye. Two hags thwarted,
a dish for a queen.
                              It makes great copy.