There was no escape clause

for his wandering eyes

He plucked his women like

Virginals

Instruments with a shaft

Resting on keys

Singing to their master

A production of his

Consumption

Looking to produce

A male heir for the monarchy

Not another girl

So onto another lady

In waiting

Their time with his words

Made flesh

Until flesh becomes

Stillborn

and him

Still searching for his

Queen

A baby making machine

To soil and sully

Until he is bored

With her bed

Then off to another

Head

Because there was

No escape clause

None at all

For the wives

Who lost their lives

Like poor Anne

Penitent and pure

Her neck

Long

Beautiful

Hanging