Random Queen

Rain after drought and the ancient puddles
find their old boundaries rapidly filling.
The pattern they make on the ground looks random
to an eye that's confused by their liquid glitter.
The clouds overhead are heavy as the velvet
bolts on display down at the town market.

The queen is enthroned at the gate to the market
and the heavy robe of her high office puddles
around her feet. Its sleeves are banded with velvet.
A servant stands at her left elbow, filling
inkwells. Cut-glass decanters glitter
on the bench, casting off rainbows at random.

She's Lady Luck; she's the Queen of the Random.
She rules every sale that takes place in the market.
Her twelve-percent cut coats her clothing in glitter.
Her lapdog is drinking spilled wine from red puddles.
She offers up bread to the beggars: it's filling.
She offers them roses as red as her velvet

with thorns sharp as cat's claws hidden in velvet
and poison on one or two, chosen at random.
Business is business and quotas need filling
in the death-life arena we're calling the market.
The walkways are dotted with scarlet puddles
and strangers pass with their eyes a-glitter.

On the market stalls, jewelery glitters
resting at ease in cases lined with velvet.
Shoppers step carefully, avoiding puddles.
The gate-guards yawn and toss coins at random,
determining who's to be let in the market.
Empty slots never go long without filling.

The Queen shows her teeth: all of her fillings
are solid gold and blind with their glitter.
Behind her, silence falls over the market
and the merchants pull raincoats over their velvets.
There's thunder above and lightning strikes at random,
fat drops falling into swollen puddles.

Fat cats rest in puddles of velvet.
When you've had your fill of glamor and glitter
ask yourself if the market is random.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside