The man wanted me
to be his Queen
and I said no
but I like to win

She said go
but I found it hard
to be the other
and not the mother

But now
I can make history
of any chance of
his popularity

for this he loves me
for this he feels
bound to comment on
my dress, how its cut
is profoundly agreeable
no less

Is there anybody in the park?
When I arrive there late
my fist is grazed
by the raw iron gate
but the catch slips
and I am with the trees
listening to the ever buzzing
of cicadas the humming of
Sibelius and the sound of a wing brushing by

The bark holds on
a brittle magnified skin
more divine and elegant
than our sloughing cover
our coughing splutter
and gasping breath
that the trees lap up
cleaning the air