The golden piano of Queen Elizabeth

Photo by sergio omassi on Pexels.com

Your Majesty –

in the golden piano lay your keys to your kingdom

black and white keys making discordant music if listened to.

 

Your Treachery –

speak of your poverty not ours as our jewels are stars

the universe of collieries blew out years ago by knighted men.

 

Your Speeches –

Grenfell was a palace for Shohab and John sweet disciples

they cannot refurbish soil so hang your imported slave silks

 

Your Palace

I read it will cost three hundred and sixty-nine million pounds.

if you walked to the park you will see your soldier raiding bins.

 

Your anthem,

I hear it in the wheeze of a dying vagrant who served in Iraq

his friend exploded like an English rose in an armoured rover.

 

Your Majesty,

I do not condone the letter ‘E’ for empire it died a million times,

my heart gave me an order to write a poem and hang it like a soldier.

 

Your soldiers

they beg for change in camouflage to be seen my queen of raptures

walk through Coventry and ask the woman making hay of cardboard.

 

My Elizabeth

is a girl I know from Potters Green who is the Queen of fuck all

she feeds two babes with sporks and waits at the foodbank with heroes.