uneasy rests the head

Disdainful of the noisesome, ill-bred mob
prince Charles played polo on his mummy's wealth.
Bereft, obliged long last to get a job
his fingers point to less than sterling health.
Diana was all Britain's princess bride
adored for charity, we felt she cared.
To coronate that woman at his side
the staunchest monarchists confess, they're scared.
An institution of another age;
John Locke explained its deep redundancy.
Camilla's never been the latest rage
but now she's stirring passions on the street.
A third King Charles! His namesakes are long dead.
We'll see how long this one can keep his head.

the royal writ

Eight legs lent Sleipnir traction on the snow;

it wouldn't do for Odin to get stuck.
The Roman fashion, building cobbled roads,
would need a labor force that gave a fuck.
Heroic architecture's rare, of course,
Reliant as it is on taxing funds.
No king could build such things of he were Norse;
what one boat's crew can't do, did not get done.
The Book of Judges shills for monarchy
to tax, and underwrite as may seem good.
Portraying tribal life as anarchy,
where individuals did as they would.
Each libertarian needs all-wheel-drive
where workers don't contribute to the hive.

derailed

Ruth Bader Ginsburg bent the moral arc
towards Justice while she nursed a wisp of breath.
She's gone, and leaves us pathless in the Dark;
Truth's torch lies fallen with Her servants death.
What prairie-fire that brand may yet ignite
is hidden from us in McConnell's gloom.
A nation famished for a glint of light
fears our republic's shambling towards its doom.

Her bench sits empty while McConnell schemes
to seat a judge subservient to men.

An evil turtle's ultimate pipe-dream--
to disenfranchise half the vote, again.
Tripartite government's third leg's too short

until a balanced jurist joins the court.