Response to “Intimations on Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood” by William Wordsworth

by Shannon Corr

No one cares for Alice out of Wonderland.

Her House of Cards destitute, it becomes a brothel

and Alice plays the Madame.

A rival establishment just up the street

has the best muslin Alice has ever seen and

she wonders why the poor Hatter never ended it all.

“Happy unbirthday to me . . . ” she whispers as Peter Pan groans.

Alice only counts her coins and spreads her legs now.

She’s late – so very, very late – and there’s no escaping this Wonderland.