Once Upon A Time (Poetry)

He’d write
the fairy story differently —
the elves
faceless drug barons
holing up
in their sleazy hotel
grottos — magic dust
in the air like woodsmoke
rolling too-expensive leaves
and carving their initials
in neon — flickering
knifeblades bloodied
among
glass-built straight-edged
city trees.

The king is
dead or dying
in some shabby palace
mortgaged to the mob
his princess daughter
a blonde warm-hearted whore
who walks the streets
and prays the witch
won’t find her — steal
the ring — its plastic ruby
winks its old lewd message
and betrays
her last secret.

It rains all night
in fairyland
dragons roam
squeeze through
tight alleyways
and feast on
ragged homeless boys
too drunk to run.

Where is the hero
born to save
the world and all
its luckless and
downtrodden hoardes?

He’s at the racetrack
puffing hard
on a thin damp
cigarette
his bank of toytown
money gone —
no winner yet
nothing
for the rent —
slim chance
of ending
with a
‘happy ever after’.