A poem fit for a king. Eating Placenta — Lines on the Royal Birth
Call me a coronation chicken but I’m sorely tempted to duck out of the Big Event this Saturday. I’m only one of a vast swathe of increasingly disenfranchised, pauperised Brits who can’t bear to see wealth and privilege based on accidents of birth lionised as if we weren’t all sliding ever deeper into the abyss.
Great Britain was once the biggest empire the world has ever seen, owning 26 percent of the planet only a century ago. Today, we’re down to the AUKUS* countries which happen to have been given a last-gasp unifying project by the former colonies across the Atlantic: Opium Wars II with World War III waiting in the wings.
Like Nero partying while his city burned, the establishment cavorts in the frothing delusion that this is fine, secure in the belief that it’s only a matter of military might before the white nations are restored to their rightful place as last men and women standing in the rubble of our beautiful blue planet. Meanwhile, they seriously expect us to pledge allegiance to some fairly inadequate human beings.
Look up, dinosaurs, that’s an asteroid headed your way, not a revived empire.
The monarchy should have ended with Liz 2 instead of dragging us forward to mediaeval times. They had a good, long innings but that was it.
I’m not a poet laureate so I don’t have to write anything for the occasion but, to mark the Coronation of King Charles III, here’s one I made earlier, written in 2013. It’s how I imagine the real celebrations going on behind the scenes once the hoi polloi are put to sleep.
* AUKUS: Australia, United Kingdom, US with Canada and New Zealand completing the pentacle states.
Eating Placenta is from Anna Chen’s second collection of poetry, Chi Chi’s Glorious Swansong, published by Aaaargh! Press.
Anna’s food blog here: