Amerika

It was raining everywhere, even on the royal procession,

Wending its way through the streets of London

That linked Westminster Abbey, where the king was crowned,

To Buckingham Palace where it all ended on that special day.

 

The display of enormous wealth and symbols of past grandeur

Seemed almost archaic in these modern times.

A small number of anti-royalists waved their banners

And signs far from the royal pathway.

No negativity, please, although it did rain on the royal parade, it did.

 

American TV talking heads vied for being more monarchist

Than the most zealous Brit in the crowd.

Even the lonely Black (affirmative action oblige) commentator

Had to preach royal fervor without more than a rudimentary

Knowledge of the British empire and its hallowed past.

She seemingly had forgotten the lessons of British infamy

That Jesse Jackson and his ilk had lectured her

And the black community back home about:

Racism was British-born and colonialism was its heinous offspring.

All this led to the suppression and grievous abuse of people of color

Although, factually speaking, the colonized countries were left better off than before their enthrallment, they were.

 

On the festooned palace balcony, the royal family, sans Harry,

Gathered to wave at the cheering thousands

Who were dressed in mock crowns and tee-shirts

Emblazoned with effigies of the aging but newly enthroned king

Who for most of his life had a passion for gardening

And high-brow things.  An introverted fellow, thrust into the public glare

That had paid scant attention to his fate

As long as his dearly beloved mother reigned.

 

Now that the gem-laden crowns have been put in storage,

The streets cleared, all the current woes come back into sharp focus.

England or the British Isles seem smaller than ever;

Charles, made the III, is the figurehead of a decadent world that

Formerly ruled supreme and now has Bermuda and Saint Helena,

The once rebellious Northern Ireland,

And a few more isles here and there to govern or administer.

A noble site it should be, Albion or England of old, now overwhelmed

With dark-toned exiles from commonwealth countries

Glorifying Allah and not Jehovah or the Lord God.

White faces are sometimes obscured

By the Pakistani and African mobs that swell in number.

The king is the titular head of the state religion, the Church of England,

Or the Anglican faith, but more and more divergent believers

Are swarming into London and other major cities.  Mosques and temples are popping up here and there.

The Church of England, the Protestant chokehold of centuries past, no longer weaves a spell on the people. Soaked in Catholic blood, the hands of Elizabeth the First, Charles’ distant relative, pointed the way to global but transitory fame.

If Charles survives the next decade or so,

Will the cathedrals and abbeys be the same

Or just relics of other times?  Tourist attractions and little more.

 

As things stand today, the English-speaking world

Can still overshadow other linguistic strongholds of yore:

Paris, Madrid, the Ottoman Empire, Genghis Khan, Tamerlane,

And imperial reigns of historical majesty, but victims of time’s erosion and preordained failing powers.

But can it hold the fort that much longer, the Anglo sphere of dominance

Without losing its footing to the Asiatic hordes?

Charles III has been given validity as ruler of church and state.  Hip hip hoorah, long live the King.

All this territory is his to maintain and keep on an even keel.

Good bye horticulture, hello parliamentary and world concerns.

---

A new monarchy is born or more likely a slightly different version

Of the crowd-pleasing Pomp and Circumstance–

The gilded formality and worship of tradition–

That non-royal domains or former colonies have come to expect.

 

It rained on the royal parade but spirits were not dampened–

Not in the least.

Hope for a better tomorrow in our old world across the sea

Was everyone’s fervent wish.

Tags: fiction, monarchism, poetry