Mrs Beast Carol Ann Duffy

These myths going round, these legends, fairytales,
I’ll put them straight; so when you stare
Into my face – Helen’s face, Cleopatra’s,
Queen of Sheba’s, Juliet’s – then, deeper,
Gaze into my eyes – Nefertiti’s, Mona Lisa’s,
Garbo’s eyes - think again. The Little Mermaid slit
Her shining, silver tail in two, rubbed salt
Into that stinking wound, got up and walked,
In agony, in fishnet tights, stood up and smiled, waltzed,
All for a Prince, a pretty boy, a charming one
Who’d dump her in the end, chuck her, throw her overboard.
I could have told her – look, love, I should know,
They’re bastards when they’re Princes.
What you want to do is find yourself a beast. The sex

Is better. Myself, I came to the House of the Beast
No longer a girl, knowing my own mind,
My own gold stashed in the bank,
My own black horse at the gates
Ready to carry me off at one wrong word,
One false move, one dirty look.
But the Beast fell to his knee’s at the door
To kiss my glove with his mongrel lips – good –
Showed by the tears in his bloodshot eyes
That he knew he was blessed – better –
Didn’t try to conceal his erection,
Size of a mules – best. And the Beast
Watched me open, decant and quaff
A bottle of Château Margaux ’54,
The year of my birth, before he lifted a paw.