Lost Kings

Lost Kings
Betsy McKenzie

On the subway,
I see children of toppled kings,
Stamped with noble profiles.
They move with that
Unconscious sense of entitlement
That marks aristocracy
Through history, around the world.
Your face could have been lifted
From bas reliefs at Chichen Itzá.
That young woman is surely of a line
Of queens from a tragic Ashanti tribe.
I meet an immigrant with
A heavy accent,
Beautiful Polish aristocratic manners.
Nobody bows like that any more.
And here, in America,
I, granddaughter of a charwoman,
Am their equal, in the law’s eyes.
I had friends who longed to live
In the days of knights in armor.
I knew better.
My folks would have been serfs.
This is better now.

March 26, 2006