My Writing

A Song So Sickly Sweet

whistle while you work,

hum a little tune

as dust settles over candles

and you take up the broom; 

princesses tell you sternly, 

“you must keep clean your house,

and if you hum a little ditty,

the time is sure to pass”

so your fingers flex so finely

as you make clear your throat

and sidestep seven scattering mice

who dance around a moat;

you sing a song so sickly sweet

that salt seeps from your eyes;

your voice is vapid, your tone is off,

it won’t take them long to realize—

the kings and queens

who sent you here,

the lords and ladies

you hold dear

even birds

in maple trees

all will hear

and all will see

the type of princess you will be

Photo by Michael Maasen on Unsplash