England won the semi final against Denmark and are through to the final against Italy. Amazing times! Outside there is singing.
It was our Abingdon share a poem group earlier today and the theme was Kings and Queens. I tried to write another Abingdon poem on a subject of local concern – V&A have been kept apart too long.
The Queen and Prince of Abingdon stand,
faces clouded with lichen and moss –
he in a jerkin, tights, and cloak;
she in corset, and marble dress.
He died young. She died old.
His column – proof of the town’s loyal grief.
She was commissioned in her Jubilee year –
by a local vintner and civic chief.
A mile by road from Queen to Prince,
with houses and gardens and shops between.
No civic leader thought to unite
the illustrious Prince and imperial Queen.
Below them the people had freedom to wander.
The Queen and the Prince had no such choice,
until one night, she hitched up her dress
proclaiming ‘Enough!’ in imperious voice.
She dropped to the ground with stately aplomb,
stealing by Poundland in search of her prize,
like glacial rock as an ice age withdraws,
’til she gazed up at his wonderous thighs.
Nothing and no-one could stop the Queen now,
She, who had missed her Prince for so long,
hitched up her petticoats and monkey-climbed up,
up his high plinth – a royal King-Kong.
Next day the crowd were more than offended
to see the Royals’ unending embrace.
Next day on Twitter #V&A trended –
backs to the world, each face to face.