Royalty

How Would You Have Coped?

I’ve often wondered over all these years,

As you move through the crowds, receive all their cheers,

How you’d have managed as my poor Mum did,

Oldest of six; single parent with kid.

A loving father gassed in the trenches,

Back from the war violent and senseless.

A mother working all God’s given hours,

Her health always failing, and yet she was ours.

Her servants were me and her kids,

No flunkeys, or butlers or staff lifting lids,

On tureens and platters of food cooked, delivered,

To you and your clan, whilst their marriages withered.

Andrew and Anne and Charles led the way

Your Edward’s got secrets due out one day.

Which house shall we sleep in, which country escape?

As six of us slept in one bedroom; our fate.

Two rooms between us with bathroom shared,

With four other families and no Council cared.

Our lives were distant, remote sort of places,

From Buckingham Palace, and three great estates.

We fought like the devil for each thing we had

Yet bloodlines and heritage were your given glad.

World tours in yachts with Royal embrace,

As I nicked coal from the railway, spots on my face.

Physicians and surgeons at your beck and call,

No wonder you buggers outlive us all.

Though Philip’s stopped driving at ninety and eight,

And roads are much safer; it’s too little too late

So why, when I feel such resentment as this,

Do I want to protect you from Corbyn’s abyss?

His Marxist agenda so full of derision,

Of privilege and power; they’d put you in prison.

Remove all your wealth, sell off your homes

To a revolutionary person, or someone he owns.

Yet be reassured, my dear sovereign Queen,

I’d rise and protect you from that old has-been.

I’ve stood on parades as you drove past

Holding a rifle, protecting your arse.

I’d dig out my rifle, give it a clean then fix bayonets,

And scream “My Kingdom For A Horse” because I forget,

You’ve got stables of stallions and millions of pounds,

Whilst my future is a hole in the ground.

No State funeral for me all grandiose and grand,

Carefully managed, meticulously planned.

I’m with the Co-Op and their Funeral Bond,

So take care dear Queenie, despite this I’m fond.

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