Wednesday, 12 March 2025

Three Poems by Sharon M. Carter

 






Who’s at My Door? 

 

A salesman arrived at the palace gate: 

brown suit, tiny suitcase. 

 

Send him up, said the Queen of Hearts 

Widowhood did not suit her. 

 

She asked about the case contents. 

Doll’s eyes, he replied. 

 

Who needs them these days? she wondered. 

He agreed sales were down.  

 

She offered him tea and cupcakes. 

He lounged on the silk  

 

chaise-lounge, his unbuttoned shirt  

revealing a six-pack and hair. 

 

He commented on his pleasure taking  

afternoon tea with a Queen, 

 

guzzled the cakes, wiping his hands 

on his shirt. 

 

Your company is fine but your table manners 

are deplorable, she said. 

 

He rose to leave, two feet taller on his hind 

legs than she, gazing 

 

with soft hazel eyes, tongue hanging down 

like a cheap red tie.

 

 

 

Black Nights with Pinot Noir 

 

5 p.m. Already half-way into a bottle 

of pinot noir, the Queen’s mood is black.  

Whatever the time here, or in France,  

whatever the excuse for celebration,  

she finally admits, she drinks too much.  

Quel domage! 

 

She imagines she can feel  

her cortex shrivel with each sip. 

The purported flavonoid content 

will surely compensate for this.  

For a moment the beautiful cut glass  

in which the garnet-tinted wine sits  

appears less dazzling.  

She sighs, recalls a childhood  

story—a bottle labelled Drink Me.  

She holds out her goblet, 

a butler pours. 

 

 

 

The Queen of Hearts at the Casino 

 

After a gambling loss the Queen ruminated 

on why she had followed her horoscope’s 

advice and a 1-888 number where a soothing  

voice encouraged positive thinking, 

seek your inner power. 

 

The horoscope had determined number 33  

would be important. She took 

her rabbit’s foot and lucky purple  

socks, bet on roulette black 33  

all night. The ball never landed. 

 

She vowed no palmist, rod diviner,  

examination of chicken entrails. 

or Delphic Oracle thereafter  

would influence her choices— 

her brain was already at the mercy 

of its own frontal lobe. 

She’d remain true to something 

familiar—playing cards.




*A a series of persona poems, reimagining Lewis Carroll’s character.










Sharon M. Carter recently retired from a career in healthcare. Originally from the U.K. she currently lives on the Salish Sea. in the Pacific Northwest. Her poems and art have been published online and in many journals including, “One Art,” “Quartet” and the Washington State award winning “Raven Chronicles, Take a Stand: Art Against Hate,” anthology. Her poetry book “Quiver” was published in 2022. “Ekphrastic Pastiche” combining art and poetry was released this September. www.sharonmcarter.com

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