alice takes issue with the queen

the compresence of cruelty and a crown does not
make a queen. round face, firm grip on the mallet,
generous shows of advanced amentia aren't enough.

causing swivet in the neighbourhood alone won't
qualify you, no matter how many weary packs of
cards you number among mile-long entourages.

pleonasms, however superfluous, cannot explain it,
nor does queendom come naturally to the homiletically
challenged sweating over the euthyphro dilemma.

anyone can cry off with their heads!, issue sumptuary
laws forbidding whatever goes against the fashion of
the hour, counterclockwise, trailing protest banners.

paper crowns burn easily, keys to the city gate can
melt, hair be dyed the colour of royal blood. look how
greedy the little flames become, how blue my curls.