The Queen of the Universe

surveys the world
from a throne of rumpled bedclothes.
Small, but self-sufficient,
her domain is populated
with slaves who possess (all-importantly)
thumbs. Who understand the workings
of doorknobs and can-openers.

All is not always peaceful. The Queen
has enemies: she hates the kitten.
The dog is loyal, but unruly
and sometimes fails to appropriately discern
the royal will. Then, the dreaded frown--
accentuated by stripes on her furry brow.

The days are past when her dominion
extended over the whole block-- now
she goes out only now and then,
watches the world from my bedroom window,
drinks from the tub, sleeps on the bed.
Matters domestic remain firmly

under her paw.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside