Jubilee
Two ladies, late eighties: one flicking
the pages of Majesty magazine
to pass the time, but still a believer;
the other preparing to sail down
the Thames in a royal barge.
Yachts, palaces, castles, state visits,
breakfast cereal in Tupperware cartons.
Happy holidays in the Isles of Scilly,
bereavement, confusion, incontinence.
One paid her care home fees by selling
her flat. The other, her son the prince
of toytown, her voice like the last squawk
of a game bird shot down in flight,
is still being looked after at home.
Greg Freeman
Thu 13th Sep 2012 10:30
Funnily enough, I have recently read Paul Farley's The Queen, David - I bought his collection at the same place I got hold of your latest, at the poetry book fair last weekend. Farley's poem is much more even-handed and has a wonderful last line! This was put together in haste and anger, and maybe partly to get a debate started on Write Out Loud. Poetic graffiti, I'd call it.