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Poetry
Fantasy
The wedding came too soon, of course,
And Junior sulked for days,
But Gertrude finally acquiesced,
And sent him back to Wittenberg,
To cobbled streets and student quarters,
Classrooms crowded and well-lit
Where no ghost could haunt the dawn.
The king and queen of Denmark had a son
And named him for his father;
Young Hamlet’s baby brother/cousin
Who grew up to be a prince,
Who loved his dad’s advisor’s daughter,
The daughter of Laertes,
And sired his own only son
And one day became king.
Hamlet, who had, after all,
Shown little interest in the crown,
Stayed at Wittenberg for years,
Seeking answers and a tenured chair.
He returned to Elsinore an older man,
With little left to show for it,
And found a stranger on his father/uncle’s throne
And a queen who looked so much
Like a childhood sweetheart.
So when Claudius in his orchard died,
Hamlet took the throne
And took the queen
And told his nephew to be merry.
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Copyright 2010, Rosalind Casey. All rights reserved. Rosalind Casey hails from Texas but attends school in the Freezing North. Her work has appeared in print in The San Antonio Express-News and The Houston Chronicle, and online in the poetry webzine Goblin Fruit and previously in MindFlights.
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