A Very Small Kingdom
Once there was a queen
who reigned alone over a very small
kingdom,
three children, a sack of potatoes waiting to be
peeled,
a sack of smelly garbage waiting to be carried
out,
a broom, useless for sweeping and even more
useless for flying around on (yes, she
had tried)
and the aforementioned three children
waiting,
waiting apprehensively,
to see what this dotty queen would come up
with next,
and also for their supper.
She had also a nervous tic, a chipped teacup,
and some small change (never enough).
And the King? Where was the King? you ask.
Also the queen would love
to know.
Perhaps he was off fighting a war. Kings love
to fight wars.
They love it so much that if there are no wars
in the immediate vicinity,
they’ll ride off looking for one.
Or perhaps there was no king. Perhaps the so-
called King was only a Frog prince who
metamorphosed back to his true self
after climbing out of the dank
swamp where he’d croaked smutty
drinking songs with his frog buddies
before climbing into the pale queen’s bed
where the climate was far too cold and
far too dry for normal Frogs or Kings.
No wonder he went off looking for a war.
Whatever.
He was gone and the queen reigned alone.
It was a lonely life, but what to do?
Oh, much to do. A queen’s work is never
done.
First she had to go to the office and make
money to buy food.
Then she had to go to the supermarket and be
insulted by rude check-out girls when
she dug in her handbag for small change
(never enough).
Then she had to wait at the bus stop weighed
down with heavy bags.
Then she had to stand during a forty minute
ride because who would give up their seat
to a baleful-looking queen with a nervous tic.
Then she had to walk five blocks through rain,
snow, sleet, you name it, like she was a
freaking postman instead a queen,
but now we are getting off the
track.
Recap.
First she had to make the money.
Second she had to buy the food,
Third she had to carry it home
(tons and tons over the years).
Then she had to scrape it, slice it, dice it, fry it,
boil it, broil it, salt it, pepper it, mash it, splash it,
put it on the table,
and issue her queenly commands:
Eat your supper.
Sit still.
Sit with your chair on all four legs.
Don’t talk with food in your mouth.
Be glad you have food on your plate.
Eat your supper.
The moral of this story is:
Even in very small kingdoms, there is
always much to do.
Janice D. Soderling is a previous contributor to Ink, Sweat & Tears. Her poetry has appeared in many UK magazines including Magma Poetry, Orbis, Anon, Acumen, Horizon Review, Antiphon, New Walk, Other Poetry, Sein und Werden.