Royal Blood

I often hear people use the expression “royal blood,” as in “she has royal blood in her veins.” They say this in all seriousness — as if there is such a thing as royal blood,  identifiable under the microscope. I’d like to think they use this expression unthinkingly, but I suspect otherwise. 

Here’s a poem I wrote during an irate moment when I read in a serious book on genealogy that somebody had “royal blood.”

Royal Blood

Royal blood
my ass.

Myth — poison
strewn about
by the ruling class,
like grain
to chickens.

Though science yields
no proof, brain-weakened
peeps believe
in blue blood,
deemed superior
to the red
that flows
without recompense
to keep the blue
enthroned.

Arise!
Fly this coop
of lies!

Royal blood?
Show some
common
sense.

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Crossing the Skyway is Barbara Gregorich’s first collection of poems. Some day she will publish a second collection.