Quintuplets In Service of Dropping a Hat for my Queen

Me and my queen –

betwixt and between,

surveying the scene,

whatever the cost

to the heart –

my heart (to be clear) –

not the Queen's.

Hers was lost to a peer

of the realm overwhelming

her, back in the 1750s

I'm told: before she lost

hold of her wits – long

before I got my tic:

stripping off at the drop

of a hat. (Though I often
put on the dropped hat.)

Queenie don't care about

that. Queenie don’t care

about squat. ‘So what?’

is what she only ever

decrees. But be bold:

play out the plot: go drop

a chapeau & I’ll strip

like a ho’ in a breeze.

That is, if it’s hot.

If it's cold, I will not.

.