Royals from the House of Hearts have long been celebrated -- witness
that Queen and her stolen tarts. Is it not well past time for regal clans
designated by other suits to receive their metrical deserts...?
The King of Spades donn'd Ray-Ban shades,
exclaiming, "Young King Cool!"
The Queen of Spades removed those shades,
explaining, "You're a fool."
The Knave of Spades purloin'd those shades,
"...to pawn 'em," offer'd he.
The King cried, "Stop!" Then call'd a cop.
(The Queen sang "Let It Be.")
The Queen of Pips Botox'd her lips
to stave off middle age.
The Knave of Pips French-kiss'd those lips,
remiss to disengage.
The King of Pips, now in eclipse,
acknowledged not that pair.
(These royal Pips should come to grips:
"à trois"es ought to share.)
The Knave of Clubs fill'd sev'ral tubs,
intent on brewing Cru.
The King of Clubs cried, "'Tis our pubs'
prerogative to brew."
The Queen of Clubs, as one who snubs
plu-motivated knaves,
embraced this Jack. "He's got the knack.
Fresh roads to wealth he paves."
The Knave of Coins King's pelf purloins
with which to swell his purse.
The Queen of Coins this Knave enjoins
in supplications terse:
"Let's split that dough, then westward go."
But Jack's not read'ly trick'd,
so leaves alone. The King cries, "Crone!
Both thou and Jack be knick'd."
The King of Swords of Mustang Fords
says, "Mustangs set the pace."
The Queen of Swords of Escort Fords
says, "Royals need their space."
The Knave of Swords of Edsel Fords
says, "Who don't love surprises...?"
Their feelings towards their favor'd Fords
dissolve as Tesla rises.
The King of Cups, once pawn of Krupp's,
elects to go to war.
The Queen of Cups withholds her "Yup!"s,
insisting, "Hold the gore!"
The Knave of Cups thereon erup's:
"I, too, refuse to fight."
The King of Cups two thumbs he "up"s:
"Awright, awright...awright!"
The King of Di'monds, scourge of hymens,
searches for a mate.
The would-be Queen of Di'monds
guards her hymen's fragile state.
The Knave of Di'monds, former pieman's
aid cum royal pander,
declares with pique, "I shall not seek
more prey for this philand'rer."
The King of Wands prefers young blondes
as handmaids to his queen.
The Queen of Wands, though, corresponds
with men of manly mien.
The Knave of Wands digs demimondes --
and beds 'em by the dozen.
The King of Wands (surprise!) absconds
with Juan, a distant cousin.
The King of Leaves as yet believes
he could have wedded better.
The Queen of Leaves for lost love grieves;
she's saved ex-lover's letter.
The Knave of Leaves, a prince of thieves,
the old Queen shall extort.
The King of Leaves this queen he leaves:
"New queens I now shall court."
The King of Roses blows his nose. His
hankie's full of snot.
The Queen of Roses, one supposes,
catches what he's got.
The Knave of Roses claims, "I'm Moses,"
Mesmerized en trance.
(These Royal Roses are, God knows, es-
pecial just by chance.)
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