From far across the sceptical isle
And all the world entire
They come to stand in sun and rain
To shiver and perspire
Guided only by the notion That this is
The Thing To Do By tube and bus, unanimous
They come to join The Queue
More important things are happening
Whatever Hoyle might say
The travails that beset the realm
Will not just melt away Innumerable crises loom
So many things to do
But not today, today there’s just
The people and The Queue
Not everybody has the time
To spend this equinox
Shuffling for hours to see
A sovereign in a box
And many more now ask aloud
What we are coming to
But still they come, see how they come
To stand there in the Queue
Day and night they tiptoe forth
With not a moment’s rest
To show the watching world that this
Is what the Brits do best
Relationships will start and end
Before their wait is through
All of human life is there
Walking in the Queue
With a ripple of excitement
A celebrity appears
Surely they will speed him
To the front to shed his tears
But not today, no one makes way
Nobody whisks him through
With solemn face he takes his place
Among them in the Queue
Our country’s rife with poverty
And rent with strife and schism
And surely this whole spectacle’s
A gross anachronism
The people are in pain, all those
Of sense know this is true
And yet we see the people there
Waiting in the Queue
“Oh come on,” pundits cry, “like Jeez”
“Can we get some perspective please?”
“It’s sad HM the Q has gone
But life, you know, like carries on
The economy is down the drain
Putin’s losing in Ukraine
And not a man of woman born would
Guess what he might do when cornered…”
“Truss fills her cabinet with goons
Incompetents and bug-eyed loons
And though the country’s split and broke
They’re off declaring war on “woke”
And though no one knows what that means
They’re still content to vent their spleens
On scrolling screens and inky page
No thought, no pause, just rage, rage, rage…”
“… against imaginary foes
And anyone that they suppose
Might cramp their style or harsh their mellow
By asking that they treat their fellow
Human beings with respect
So of course they bluster and object
Should such indulgence e’er prevail
We’re done for, says the Daily Mail”
“Meanwhile,” these critics further note
“This mourning is all rather rote…
If we could throw some harsh relief
On to this cavalcade of grief
A gesture of respect is fine
Sincerely meant and genuine
But if performed under duress
It’s rendered wholly meaningless”
“And all these ostentatious shows
Of woe are kind of on the nose
And some, it seems, were not thought through
(Yes, Center Parcs, we DO mean you)
So these grand gestures of despair
Dilute, diminish and impair
Those heartfelt acts of veneration
From the general population”
“So come on, guys,” they now conclude
“At risk of seeming mean or rude
You TV news folks and the press
You’ve done this story, more or less
So wrap it up, and let’s move on
And leave this doleful marathon
You’ve more important things to do
Than hassle people in the Queue!”
And yet…
And yet the countless feet
Shuffle slowly forward
Snaking through the city’s streets
Silent, gazes lowered
Filing past the casket
Though there’s nothing much to see here
Knowing, if not knowing why
They simply had to be here
So is this just blind loyalty
That calls them in such numbers?
The kind with which no modern nation
Finds itself encumbered?
Is this just tabloid jingoism
Flattering itself?
Flag-hugging empty-headedness?
Or is it something else?
Is something deeper working here
That binds the nation yet?
Which we in our smart-arsedness
Have managed to forget
Something ancient, buried down
But bursting forth anew?
Just what it is that brings them out
Out to join the Queue?
It’s over now, the day is done
The people have dispersed
To their corners of the nation
That is equally blessed and cursed
Long live the King, I guess
I hope he casts his mind back to
The day when he was one of thousands
Walking in the Queue.
