THE PRINCESS AND HER PRINCES

When the sun went down the princess
went to her wardrobe and flung open
its mirrored door.
Inside were dresses sparkling
in the colors of my old Crayola box:
aquamarine, burnt sienna,
deep ruby red.
My favorite were the two
opposites: bridal white
and black taffeta.
Shoes to match every dress
and the extra dove gray platforms
with crossing 12 inch straps
just because
she had small feet and
tiny royal ankles.
She displayed all her
best assets in these
garments and accessories.
Every Friday and
Saturday night the
witch went dancing at the
Silver Star Tavern
with a handsome prince
who upon closer inspection
resembled a warty toad.
A sweating, rotten-breath amphibian
who promised to get me a
singing contract.
Or the other one who said
I had bedroom eyes.
Our fridge was empty,
my shoes had holes,
the princess witch and
her princes wore raiment
of kings with pockets
full of promises
which upon closer
inspection resembled
crumpled bits of
fabrication.