Cinderella's Shoes

The ugly sister, Alice,
glared at the mirror with reflected malice;
gave a grin
and blew a bubble;
stroked the stubble
on her chin
and simpered, in unbridled bliss,
“What a charmer I iss!”
adding, with a grimace,
“Who’s the prettier, glass face?”

“Cinderella!
Cinderella. Cinderella. Cinderella.
Cinderella. Cinderella.”
The mirror twinkled a little wintry.
“Cinderella. Cinderella….”

The tiny fragments of splintery
glass were swept up by footman Fred.
“What a wolatile woman!” Fred said.
“A weally, wolatile woman!”

An officer guarded the small glass slipper,
passport to a prince and palace.
(But not for Alice.)

She squeezed and pressed and squealed and swore
and gave a most almighty roar.

More fragments of splintered glass
were swept up by footman Fred.
“What a woracious woman!” Fred said.
“A most woracious woman!”

Cinderella slipped easily into the other shoe,
was whisked off in a gilded carriage
to a brave new world where her goodness drew
her, to liveried servants and a royal marriage!

And Alice?
She stumbled her bloody way
to a fate far worse than death.
To a tiny cell with walls of mirrors.
Unbreakable, bullet proof, everlasting glass!