Our Secret Winner’s Remorse

Oh, how royally grand the celebration

for George the general’s marshaling sensation

and the British abrogation. Oh, how quietly grand

our bankers’ realization they’d won the golden scepter

with George the king’s cessation.

Oh, how sadly odd our grieving fascination

with Diana’s death and implications,

and how frankly queer the enchantment we allow

for every scrap of titillation

from royal family intimations.

Oh oh oh, and how we betray our secret inclination,

shakily insisting irony in Plath’s daddy allegations,

denouncing loudly fascist emanations

lest sheathed in velvet masquerations--

we let the White House rule our nation.

                                                                                                                                           m.d. paust