She’s read enough books like Angela’s ashes
to guess how it’s supposed to go,
but this is her first confession
and the wooden penance shed
is filled more with sinful wishes
than the sins themselves.
Priests have active imaginations
especially after the suggestions
they hear on a daily basis.
She started off,
“Father, if you’re listening,
I did something bad.
If you’re not listening,
it doesn’t really change anything,
I’ve still been naughty.”
Ginger Crumpet is the type of kid
who would have bootlegged
the moonshine out of the 19-teens
only to sell it in the ’20s.
She was never really good at listening,
especially to prohibitions.
“The story didn’t end
when the rose broke the enchantment.
It wasn’t over when “Happily ever end”
flashed before the credits.
Sure, Beast returned to a more human size,
but his rage stayed just as large.”
The sing-song narration
playing in her cranium
was loud enough to drown out
the sound of “no”:
the hit that other kids
would like to play on their IPhones
and sing with their “o-shaped” mouths.
“So I FaceTimed the witch
and invited her into our castle.
For the bountiful hospitality,
Beast is now spending his days as a tea cup.
I don’t want to repent,
I don’t want to make amends.
I just wanted to brag.”
She was the tin man trying to do yoga
or Scarecrow riding in the front of the fire truck.
She was counterculture.
She was untouchable.
She was a rock star.