So many people follow spit

So many people follow spit

And polished soldiers

On a walk down the Mall,

Wearing papier-mache masks

Waving to the gallery

As quaint and appealing as an

English summer fete

A long-dead satire of faded Empire

Appearing as pale faces

Caught in newsreel cameos

Ghosting in black and white

Flickering spirits

Cavorting in ecstasy at wars end

Drunk on a belief in freedom

Barely able to withstand the pressure

Of relief

After so many years

In the dark

Bold new colours now, bleeding

Out of history, into life

Reds whites and blue hues

Painting a different picture

Of the same story

Tears still fall at the memory of strife

The joy of release

The bare levelling of the field

The keys to the city

On a chain around everyone's neck

Breaking wide the lockdown

In an explosion of pageantry

Diamonds are not just

For the jubilee

Marching into history

Wearing hand-sewn coats over the cracks

In an unwritten constitution

Victims of tradition

My old man’s a dustman

He sticks a feather in his hat

He wears cor blimey trousers

Has no heating in his flat

But like a cat who got the cream

He’s gone off to London

To see the Queen

And as he stands waiting

She remains

In constancy,

Waving

As he is drowning.