In the scullery, under the back stairs

On hands and knees, scrubbing floors.

My closet overflows with glass slippers.

But I don’t speak up. I know my place.

The prince is a prick. He struts and poses

In peacock feathers and lycra tights.

He preys on busty young babes --  

Humps ’em, dumps ’em, keeps score of his scores.

Makes decisions with a snap of his fingers.

Exercises his rights and his rites

For his sake, Amen.

I don’t speak up.

I know my place.

-- Jim Taylor, June 2018