Best Wastrel Poems

The cloying sangria
of freesias
invades the screen.
Amber bees whine
in wastrel air
like breezeless fans.
My shirt 
is porcelain skin.
I dangle one metronome leg
off the arm
of a wicker chair
on the porch
as icebox rivulets
trickle down my sides.
In a far corner
dead flowers 
curl
in a glass vase....

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a true legend with spoken words
the world’s oldest reigning monarch
rarely gives interviews
personal feelings not know
her beliefs fundamental importance
well known for her dry witticism
habits were parodied by media
know not to be a teetotaller
wants to see her kingdom live forever
hypocrisy lessened and faded
the future British world is...

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