Princess Kay of the Milky Way . . .
Fairground royalty, she’s our
Midwestern sweetie, a dairyland diva
with apple cheeks rosy and golden hair flowing
breathy and beguiling, ruler of the day.
Tiny beads of sweat glisten on her bosom,
like dew drops on melons,
with the smell of freshly mown hay.

Atop a float, beneath a rhinestone crown,
white-gloved, waving to the crowd,
throwing candy, blowing kisses
to reaching, awestruck children thronging all around.
Neither cold grey rain nor sticky summer swelter
can make her white-capped smile waver;
with misty eyes, she’s black and blue and brave
as golf ball-size hailstones pelt her.

Then . . .finally, the anticipated magic moment . . .
the highest tribute, honor, accolade . . .
a sculpture carved in fat, a butter bust
on a silver tray, in a cold glass case displayed.
Just ten short days of glory — only to become
some back room, bar room boast,
Yessir, fellas, this morning I had her, right there on the table,
Princess Kay on toast!”

— Elaine Pedersen ©


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