A Fairy Tale for Our Times

Because this was way too good to leave buried as a comment on kiwiblog!

Copyright: Kiwi_Donkey

“Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who’s the most popular of them all?”
“’Tis you, O Queen, wise and fair
Your judgement puts you in the clear
The people love you just and true
They do not turn to anyone new.”

The Queen received her due with grace
While peace and beauty showed on her face
Until a grunt disturbed her royal self
And she turned to see her finance Elf
“My Toiler! Banisher of all my cares
What news have you for my sweet ears?”

“None good, your Majesty,” replied the Elf
“The cupboard’s bare and so is the shelf
I’ve robbed Peter to pay Paul
Put the middle class in Thrall
Let taxes rise, put on new charges
Gathered windfalls, cut at margins
The roads are old, crime is rising
People are sick and business crying.”

“But what has happened to the cash we raised?”
Cried the Queen. If that is gone I’d be amazed.”

“Some went to the old woman who lives in a shoe,
And more to pay those telling her what to do
Some I kept to help the future old
Locked in my treasury is that last bit of gold
But most we spent as you told us to
A fritter here, a brainstorm there, and soon it’s through.”

“WHAT!” cried the mighty Queen with rage
“I must have gifts for the public mind
Handouts and favourites at every stage
Are necessary to keep them blind!”

At this the mirror stirred to life
“O Queen, the situation has changed
Your hope for love is hitting strife
From the woods, a new man arisen
Is treating your programmes with derision
Your reign so popular, wise and fair
Is now being seen as just hot air
Around him gather both good and mean
To take the throne from the spendthrift Queen.”

“How dare they challenge me, I am Snow White!
And to prove it I’ll smite with all my might.
Send for my dwarfs! Abandon the law!
If we can’t win fairly, we’ll have a war.”

So in came Smarmy, Angry, Sleepy,
Prissy, Dancer and Little Creepy
And last of all that mighty twit
Now known to all as the hypocrite

“Advance!” cried the Queen in a harsh tone.
“Find that man who claims the throne
Hack him down ‘till you reach bone
Do not rest until he doth moan
‘enough’ and retires from the fray
So that unfettered we may have our way.”

At the end of the day the dwarfs returned
Beaten, battered, broken and burned
Angry would no longer talk
At the thought of strife did Sleepy balk
Dancer still muttered, “he lied”, “he lied”
While Smarmy had just ducked and dived
Prissy was found behind the throne
His only weapon a wounded tone.

The hypocrite had fought with gusto
Fuelled by an antipasto,
Scampi and wine, consumed legato
But while his blows intended pain
They missed the target and hit John McCain.

And as for little creepy, that nosy squirt
None could tell whose side was worst hurt.

“Oh, no,” said the Queen to her finance Elf
“If you want something done, do it yourself”

And so she mounted her white charger
Rode to battle with great ardour
Galloping into filth and muck
Keeping going due to luck
Wielding claims both real and fake
And looking back not at her wake
Where sewers flowed and nightmares gathered
And with shapeless heaving the evil blathered.

Who knows the end of the fair Queen’s plan?
Perhaps she will strike down her man?
But however much she strives and conquers,
If she thinks the mirror approves, she’s bonkers.