Watching the Queen's Funeral on TV

The byways have been scoured
for skulking anarchists,
Paddington’s trending on Twitter
and the Beeb-machine glides into gear

to air this stately much-ado,
this medal-chested,
bearskin-bobbing,
vintage British ballyhoo.

The Abbey’s organ
murmurs pastoral condolences
as red-cloaked clergy
skim the floor like chess pieces.

The famous and the good,
and the famously-not-good
are shepherded to tiered pews.
Someone’s had the job of choosing
where they sit. I wonder who.

Faithful or faithless,
meek or proud —
all bow their heads to the coffin
with its grave cargo
of stoic virtues.

‘O Lord,’ the choir pipes up,
‘Thou knowest the secrets of our hearts.’
It was good we never knew
what she was thinking.

We’ll go to our beds tonight
and she’ll go to the earth.
We are such stuff.

She was supreme at doing what queens should.
She was, I think, as queens go, pretty good.

Annie Fisher

 
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Annie Fisher would be pleased to hear them.