If I Were The Queen Of Heaven Poem by Mark Heathcote

Like a fox in the hen house;
A meandering old bag-lady, asking for alms,
Coughs out loud
Hope I didn't disturb or startle you dear's you darlings?
Faiths a wilting blossom burned in the blackthorn hedgerows
Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, child.
Can you spare an old lady any farthings?
If I were the Queen of Heaven,
I would have entered your heart more quietly,
More serenely, like tree-resin wrapped around poison-ivy.
I would have risen-up-through those trembling soft-roots
No-less-than Satan wrestles or persecutes
Can you spare an old lady any farthings?
If I were the Queen of Heaven,
I would have locked you-in-amber child, safe and warm,
I would have given you your salvation,
Showered you in tears of loving preservation,
Can you spare an old lady any farthings?
If I were the Queen of Heaven,
Yes, Mary-would-be-my-name a virgin just the same.
But I'm not here to rock your cradle to the grave!
Yes, Mary-would-be-my-name, but I don't want her fame
Nor am I about to give childbirth in a stable
I'm not here to be your father or your mother
Or make sacrifices like Cain did, done for Abel
I don't child show anymore "pity" for
The living, any more than I do the dead
I already reside at the top-table of the newly condemned
And what would I know of each-one-here other, -
Other than each-has-been wedded my foe,
My lover my inimitable friend I took for a brother
But when I begged for alms,
Their hearts were slam-closed forever.
Can you spare an old lady any farthings?
Even if somehow she weren't the Queen of Heaven,
Or our very, own, Queen of Hearts.