That Hamlet Girl

 

That Hamlet girl, her father died

she took it bad, cut up inside

speed and skunk, went off the rails

smudged her lipstick, broke her nails

scorned her mother – row after row

how could she seek a wedding vow

so soon after death’s stolen kiss

placed itself on her father’s lips ?

A royal seal, a mourning ring

Her tears are shed for a father

   and king.

 

 

 

That Hamlet girl, I read her file -

the paper cuts, a beguiling smile

she lay here on my psychiatrist’s couch

re-fashioned her anger, unburdened herself

of many disturbances, plots conspired

distant memories of a father she desired

“Your uncle now is father and king.

Your mother’s new love, can her joy not bring

happiness to a daughter as well ?”

She laughed. “Call me happy when my uncle

   is in hell.”

 

 

 

That Hamlet girl – I liked her style.

A cloak concealed her inner guile

cool and moody, swagger and lace

those dreamful eyes, that soft imperilled face

I saw her lovers - princes all,

would she text them ? would she call ?

They offered salvation, shoulders to rest

(the ravens here fly turret to nest)

monitored cell phones hour after hour,

while she sat alone beneath a solemn

   lake's bower.

 

 

 

That Hamlet girl, she fools around

endless pearls of melancholy sound

this block, this street, this battlement

through corridors heavy with discontent

she walks in silence, disappears

reads books that have lain for years and years.

While others cut flowers, tend their looms

she hides in closets, mysterious rooms

a cancelled appointment – no need to plead:

this princess has a brain to feed.

 

 

 

That Hamlet girl – I stroke her hair,

Could she love me ? Too old to bear ?

Beneath her pillow a silver ring to keep

listen: she whispers Danish in her sleep.

On another part of the platform a ghost is seen:

her uncle, dead – see her pimp and preen!

No hangman’s noose will sear one so young

she evades them all - poison on her tongue.

Dear Bard, I beg you – clear this Nordic mist

She was my true love, my beautiful pessimist.