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A queen was spinning flax one day.
She gave her loom a jerk.
(Don’t ask what “flax” or “looms” might be,
or why a queen must work).

She pricked her finger (careful, now!)
yet Sigmund Freud would say
these children’s tales are full of smut –
there is no other way.

Three drops of blood fell in the snow
(she’s spinning flax outside?)
She thought that she’d commemorate
her perforated hide.

“I’ll have a daughter,” Queenie thought,
“with lips of ruby red,
and skin as white as that there snow!
Let’s go!” And so to bed.

Her weaving-loom was black as jet
- another tint to add –
and when she found she was ‘with child’,
a daughter’s what she had.

The girl grew fair, with jet-black hair,
and skin, unblemished, white:
those curvy hips, those luscious lips!
She was a gorgeous sight.

But mother never missed a chance
to put her daughter down:
“Just understand, I rule this land –
the only babe in town!”

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
who’s the tasty totty?”
The magic mirror told her straight,
“Queen, you’re the only hottie!”

But adolescence changes things,
and Snow White turned out fair:
to use the common parlance, she
had grown a lovely pair!

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
I’m still the choicest chick!”
“Well, just about,” the mirror said:
“the kid’s improving quick!”

We’ll drop the Huntsman who was tasked
to take her to the river
(Snow White, that is) and rip her guts,
so Queen could eat her liver.

Why did the hunter like the girl?
Was it her curvy bits?
A friend, he proved – and probably
A friend with benefits!

He told the truth, and now the youth
slipped something in the booze.
She turned real mean – she got the queen
the reddest pair of shoes!

The birthday bash was fairly flash:
for Queenie, two surprises –
no, not the wine ‘improved’ with hash,
as everyone surmises!

Snow White was still alive, the first:
she wore a see-through blouson.
“Mommy Dearest,” red lips pursed,
“Just slip these bright red shoes on.”

The Queen put on the birthday gift
and started twirling, prancing:
the mirror told her, “You’ve been stiffed!
You’re dying, Queen – not dancing!”

That Snow White dame must take the blame:
for she had put together
two metal sheets, a red-hot treat!
Those shoes weren’t made of leather!
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