I am a stubborn old mule,
forever trapped in a hellish fable,
yet too proud to close the book.
Gazing into my magic mirror,
I see the evil queen…
and the big bad wolf…
even a vain sorcerer craving to rule the land…
at least real villains have motivation.
In a tale such as this,
for all of its power in fortune-telling,
is quite filthy
and a chore to clean.
the glass is cracked…
possibly beyond repair.
How can this mule believe in
any kind of “ever after”
when “happily” is an adverb so closely attached to
the image of make-believe?