Katherine The Great (Poetry)

They winnowed through the dry old husks of scandal,
let no discarded titbit lie unturned,
her reputation’s shot — she’s undefended —
high time the witch was tried, her image burned.

Unfeminine, aloof — yet fans adored her,
believed those fairy tales slick pressmen spun,
and as her legend grew, they fawned and toadied,
raised high her pedestal, its tilt begun.

Speculation, theory, ugly rumour
while she lived, and still more when she died,
exhuming every rotten bone of gossip,
chewing over what she failed to hide.

Sly coroners of fame with crafty scalpels
sliced away — selective with their proof —
edited to suit the better story
and disregarded finer grains of truth.

Biographies of stars are ten a penny,
contain more fiction than the Booker prize,
the simple facts embellished for more drama,
and tart with unattributable lies.

But on the screen Kate still commands attention,
her films survive this blighting of her name,
for Hollywood has thrived so long on scandal
it glories in the darker side of fame.