Story worthy of the wife of Bath: What do women want?

Well, take the case of Mrs C. She and Bill come to mind, for me.

If that was your own White House, this is my own war.

I can be more brutal than you ever were, my dear.

Is that it? Outmuscle the muscle, then outman the male state,

All in the name of liberation, ladies proving tough instead of nice?

Is it to come out on top, even if you cheat, since crime doesn’t actually play?

x

The Rothschilds’ rattler-potion uncle used to fleece the brothers

Of their candy, hone them into sharpsters. What is the crime today

Most women want to commit? To have the last word, however absurd?                     

Or is it to input a foot, at whatever cost, even if it thus destroys

The harmony of your act? Mrs C, most probably became infected

By being a wife. It’s thought that this illness that ruined her life

Was brought on by the Billness of the Oval Office. Schadenfreude.

x

Schadenfreude. Look, because he’s sat there, she has to.

Put in that extra flag-pole. Make a decision for herself,

Linger over the button, like when she barged in on Bill and Monica

There on the couch where they used to do it. Ouch!

It is not something she can let go. Dumbfounded, heart-broken,

Bruised by that filthy young cow, boy, has she an itch to scratch!

Funds are needed for her campaign. There are plots to hatch.

x

When it comes to earmarked billions, what’s the cunning plan?

For Bill it boils down to his grin, one hand extending its

Common touch; behind the back, that Midas clutch.

Costs so little to kowtow to issues now for which they’ve badgered

That she may profit from what power femininity may gift her.

Profit, Hillary, profit! Where there’s a will there’s an underhand way.

Since there’s no gain without pain, bring earthquakes into play.

x

Put your faith in your own Foundation. There, between lip and cup,

Many a slip can be set up, many a straw inserted

So as to siphon off the cash while Haitians clutch at straws.

She will show that such as she is capable of waging mayhem,

Boosting the survival of its industry, albeit hastily,

Yes, and on the wrong side: she came, she saw, he died;

Thus yanking out the stopper that had heretofore

x

Denied the overcrowded dinghies of exodus a chance

To leave by Libya. Voted into potentatehood, she’ll become superior – 

And an even bigger bitch than she ever was in Arkansas,

If she’s to realise her dream: win the House for all bitches everywhere.

Should this mean kids suffocating in the back of trailers next to over-

Zealous cub reporters, bring it on. Compromise that trust in how right

Your causes seem. Power and Light, Mrs C. Power and Light.

x

From Book 1 of The Runiad

The Runiad is an epic poem I completed in 2025. See also Matching Democrats