royal wedding day
I notice my champagne flute has a chip –
trust me to pick the only one.
But then
what can you expect from Oxfam?
Just yesterday I thought
“Stuff the royal wedding!
What do I care?
Shall I become a media-manipulated pawn?
Vive la revolution!”
Yet here I am today,
defiant with my bottle of champagne
and M&S Chinese takeaway.
While others celebrate why shouldn't I
take part?
First there is London
which holds half my heart.
My London where generations of seal skin dressers
sat in fusty Bermondsey.
Where now my children live
free yet enfolded in my love.
And marriage – ah yes marriage.
I wrote of that today.
Who cares for that?
The tiny miniatures stay –
the queen in egg-yolk yellow
the bride a lovely swarthy witch
Harry with his navvy’s walk
(funny he didn’t inherit that
male pattern baldness . . . .)
Camilla walks like me – carefully!
At least Sir Elton didn't bring the brat
. . . and who are all those nuns?
For the couple I hardly care a jot
and yet tears roll down
I don’t know why.
I try to be a poet so I
pull the sinews out of life.
And in my lonely heart’s despair
one happy thought.
At least Tony and Cherie Blair
WEREN'T THERE!
Ann Foxglove
Mon 2nd May 2011 07:19
Thanks but - who WERE all those nuns?