Scribbled Thoughts

Martha’s usual melody of greeting

died under the accusing youthful eyes.

Her strained smile

contained a melancholy sigh,

remembering the old wonder and joy

her arrival used to bring.

‘Hello dearie,’ she chirped,

swishing her arms a little for effect.

‘How may I help?’

The young woman didn’t look ill,

abused or distressed.

The dress she clutched was good quality,

the room was small but clean

and the door was unlocked.

Martha guessed a love problem.

‘I need you to make me…’

‘Worthy of a prince?’

‘No, make me a prince.’

Martha swished her wand

as she read her new assignment.

There were no details,

which was common these days,

no one poured their hearts out

to stars anymore,

just demanded an audience.

A ‘poof’ of smoke and

she was in a respectable but small room,

the curtains were drawn,

the bed unmade

and a young woman

was sat on the floor in undergarments,

clutching a beautiful dress

and glaring.

‘It’s about time! I’ve been wishing

for you for years.’

(I think my repetitive rant poetry is getting a bit stale subject-wise and felt more inspired today to try explore a fairy tale twist idea I’ve had for a while. Hopefully more of this will follow.)

It wasn’t what it used to be,

being a Fairy Godmother.

The role used to be appreciated,

sacred,

with young women

longing to wish upon a star

and have a dream granted

Now there were demands,

and complaints,

that had forced restrictions

on the profession

and dulled its magic.

Martha wasn’t sure

she could do it anymore.