Swizzle Stick

The Queen Speaks

My son is madness worn upon the back,
enraged that I have married in the wake
of his dear father’s death. I have no lack
of grief for the late king. But I must take

protection as a woman and as Queen.
My son believes that as an aged dame
I must use only reason in affairs
and love forget. I must not feel the same
while widow as when maiden. Any airs
of lust or love forsaken. He is mad.
I have few words. The menfolk unawares
of my heart’s wish speak for me. It is bad.

I have no guilt. I mourn behind the scenes,
more tactical than seeming virtuous Queen.