Oh, it’s divine!

My Arcade Glow ebbs and flows;

she comes and goes these days.



The checkered tiles

pave a chess-board mile

while horse-hoofed ladies

trot the marble,

clip-clopping

in sky-scraping shoes.



The clock still clanks

at two past the hour

with a bored, unchanging face

while little girls

on tipped-toes teeter

prodding in tones

that couldn’t ring sweeter


“Excuse me,

but what kind of Princess

are you?”



…because you have to be a Princess

to work in the Royal Arcade.



(Duh.)



Little girl of mine

one distant day, 
we’ll hoof through here

and with glowing smiles, 
as we clop the tiles,
I’ll whisper;

“Mummy used to work in a shop,

that used to be just over there.”

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