Marie-o-nette Antoinette

Morning coffee at the steps of the chapelle. 
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
“Mademoiselle, comment tu t’appelle?”
Is that the conceited clown from Uptown,

Up-up-upper Man—hat—tan? 
B-b-liar or Sir-Sir-ina.
Hands clasping the creamy caramel,
She calls herself a struggling ballerina (but regina is regina!),
“Mademoiselle, ta robe est vraiment belle!”

Gioconda in Sable,
The Sphinx without a Secret.
Elle sort son portable:
“But if there is no secret,
(And no one to tell) 
Then how can I keep it?”

The King’s two Bodies: 
“Où es-tu? On commence dans dix minutes!”
“Mais non, chérie, ich kann nicht! Der Leviathan ist kapütt.”
 

© Elena Natroshvili 

IG: 16minutepoetry