No Dosh for the Madam

No Dosh for the Madam

She woke one morning sharp with scheme,

A crown imagined, bold and bright,

She said, I shall be Madam now,

And rule the velvet night.

Gold would fall like summer rain,

Coins would sing against her hand,

Men would queue outside her door,

As planned, just as she planned.

She powdered dreams upon her face,

She practised looks of sly command,

She named her price with lifted chin,

And waited for demand.

But whispers travelled quicker still,

Through alleyway and tavern wash,

They said she never scrubbed her skin,

Not once beneath the slosh.

No scented bath, no scented soap,

No ribboned steam to rise,

Just stubborn pride and yesterday,

Still clinging to her guise.

The men arrived, then stepped right back,

With cough and shaken head,

One muttered, Keep your crown, my dear,

And fled the path he’d tread.

Her fortune melted in the air,

Like smoke without a flame,

For even kings of shadowed streets

Require a basic aim.

She counted nothing in her palm,

No silver, note, nor wash,

A Madam without custom found

No glory, and no dosh.

And so she learned beneath the moon,

Ambition must be clean,

For even wicked dreams require

A basin in between.