Imported Poems

Ms. Tanya blushed. “I can explain that. My parents wanted a boy, so me mum dressed me up like a lad when I was a child.”
“Oh blimey!” Prince Beautiful cried while plucking the lint from his belly-button. “Too bad. So, I was thinking, if you were to help me out of this little situation here, I might consider marrying you.”
“Bah! And what makes you think I want to get married?” Ms Tanya countered. “That’s a gender stereotype perpetuated by a patriarchal system for the purposes of maintaining power through sexual subjugation. I thought you’d be more progressive, seeing as you’re a prince locked up in an anachronistic tower.”
“Well how about a back rub, then?” asked Prince Beautiful.
“A back rub? Well I do have a sciatic nerve problem from riding this bloody horse all the time…”
“I’ve got my chiropractor’s license,” enthused the Prince, “but my parents don‘t want me touching smelly, old people.”
“Deal. I’ll be back in the morning with rope,” said our valiant heroine, turning around her horse in order to avoid ending the sentence with a preposition.
“Wait!” the Prince exclaimed, tittering on his tip-toes, for he was too short to see out the window otherwise, “you must kill the dragon first!”
“What dragon?!”
“I don’t know! You’re the knight! There’s always a bloody dragon in one of these stories.”
“I think you’ve got your genres confused,” answered Knight Tanya, turning her horse around in the other direction, thus again avoiding ending the sentence in a preposition. “This isn’t a medieval Renaissance piece, but a contemporary satiric fairy tale mocking Medieval Renaissance pieces, gender relations and…uh, fairy tales amongst other ideas that may come to the author’s mind during its telling.”
“So, there’s no dragon?”
“No.”
“Oh, but this is a fairy-tale?” the Prince asked tenuously, despite current editorial standards, which discourage the use of adverbs.
“Yes.”
“Then Prince Charming is a witch who’s cast a spell on me,” answered Beautiful who, at that very moment unbeknownst to our noble Knight, was scratching his hemorrhoids on the sly.
“I didn’t think men could be witches,” countered Ms Tanya. “Don’t you mean warlock?”
“Warlock then. In any case the fairy cast a spell on me and my parents.”
Our splendid heroine scrunched her heretofore undescribed face up in confusion. “What fairy?”
“Prince Charming.”
“But you said he was a witch…a warlock,” the Knight, who by this time was want for another descriptive term, corrected. “Warlocks cannot be fairies; nor can fairies be warlocks. They’re mutually exclusive terms.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. He’s a nancy. A poofer. A bent ginger. A poncy.”
“Well I didn’t know!” declared Ms Tanya defensively. “I’m just feigning this Cockney accent for the sake of the piece. I’m not really from England.”
“You’re not? Then what are you doing here?”
“I’m supposed to rescue you! Don’t you know the author lives vicariously through her characters? Now if you’ll excuse me, Prince Beautiful, I’ve got to visit your fairy. Why don’t you go brush your long, flowing brunette locks until I get back,” she cried, and with that, rode off into the sunset, although Charming’s Castle was in the complete opposite direction.