The Bastard Prince

had no patience with his brothers
and their tiny-footed, anemic brides,

but the court ladies chased him anyhow,
presuming he had influence with Dad.

So he picked the ugliest prospects:
harelipped, bunioned, warty;

invited them for a night at his cottage --
straw bedding over a layer of pebbles.

Copying their simpering sisters
they boasted of bruises and battered limbs,

batted their eyes, reddened their lips
and declined his oatmeal without a taste.

One stormy night, the gold-eyed daughter
of an under-gardener begged shelter,

slept till noon, ate two bowls of oatmeal,
and beat him four times at dice.

He proposed; she refused.
He offered to slay a dragon for her.

Her gold eyes sparked;
flame issued from her nostrils.

She informed him her mother
was an ivory-scaled mountain dragon.

After due consideration, he took up
the slaying of dragon-hunters --

an unexpectedly profitable sport
(the armor, the jeweled swords)

that earned him a comfortable retirement
and a formidable mother-in-law.

(First published in Dreams & Nightmares)