This is not a dysfunctional relationship.

By h.p.

She calls me Sisi, like the Empress,

And it really is such an awful thing –

Has she an inkling of the tragic life

That awful woman lived?

I said call me anything else:

Victoria, Matilda, hell, Jane Grey –

She told me not to be so England centric,

Whatever the Lord that means.

She has an odd obsession with Edwardian princesses.

I taught her all she knows,

But it seems my lessons went one ear, out the other

Morals were never really her core.

I take lines from popular poets

And tell her they’re mine

Guess me and “Sisi” are equal in that sense –

Utter rubbish at our own.

I miss when I saw her without fault

As it now seems there’s nothing but

She called my favorite band “trite”

And I really did take that to heart.

She doesn’t mean what she says

She’s fickle in that sense

I guess I could call her Marie Antionette

If she wasn’t so fond of that woman.

Maybe she’s my Catherine

She’ll overthrow me one day

She doesn’t want me to talk about Russians anymore

So I guess I’ll just stop speaking.