Alicean

they will spin you round in a teacup frenzy
as if they knew you from way back when
and sift you off into the categories

but you don't fit in.
in your pale blue with the ruffled lace
they think you're really out of place

and wont even let you pour the tea
much less drink it.
ah misery. thy name is dreams gone awry.

and being made to say goodbye
to those who managed to make you cry
in the guise of lessons you never asked for anyway.

but you're not one to go sighing about the riverbanks
in the pale quotidians, the aftermath of song.
the picnic falling apart off the seams

except for the cream puff pastries you redeemed
knowing there must be something good in it
if it happened to you at all.

mary angela douglas 28 february 2020