The King is Dead
In 1536, a woman imagining the death of a king
was to be drawn on a hurdle to the pyre
and burned alive. Well, I don’t want him to die, Your Honour,
I am just a Republican. But imagine, I can’t help …
Imagine the death of a king, no more Kings,
imagine the death of deference, no more deference
Imagine the death of the BBC commentaries, the Gold Coach
(although I rather like the Gold Coach) no more epaulettes,
spurs, buckles, swords, spats, plumes, bearskins, breastplates, accoutrements, regimental goats
…..especially the Chelsea pensioners
wouldn’t they be happier in baggy tweed jackets?
Imagine a throne which shreds when you sit on it
Imagine a throne made of bread which breaks up,
giving itself away, renewing itself, laughing,
day after day, day after ordinary day.
Correspondence
Dear Jermaine,
Windy and rainy out (typical English weather!)
Something nasty happened to my wellingtons
to do with the cat- I won’t go into it – so my feet are wet.
I took my purple coat to the dry cleaners, remember?
the one I bought last year on EBay for £6.50
Dear Ruth,
The twelve horsemen of Perdition are storming the gates!
Only I, the Lord’s anointed, stand between you sons of Satan
and the righteous anger of the House of Nazarites!
Fearful and terrible to behold is the countenance of the Lion!
Razor O’Rourke stole my stash of Krispees during shakedown.
Dear Jermaine,
I was sorry to hear that Razor is now on the hospital wing.
Do say hello to him from me. I see that the temperature where you are
is 39 ° How long will you be in solitary? Still raining here.
We are all wondering when summer will really come!
Ha-ha face. The Church Fete made £453.73! My coffee cake went for 2.50!
Dear Ruth,
The day of the thousand scimitars is at hand! Trent ‘Banzai’ Fernandez
wrote my name in blood in the showers. I will proclaim The 17th Secret
Prophecy of Antioch anew in Pod 76b from dawn until the evening!
The infidels are petitioning against me coming for some reason.
Can you send me $4 to see the doctor and for some flip-flops?
Pg. 13
Razor’s mate, Frank J Heinemann got me as they brought me out
of bang-up. Chaplain O’Halloran spoke up for him
the superstitious, lying, power-mad, oppressive, abusive bastard
also plain ol’ wrong like all Roman Catholics, nothing against you though, Ruth.
I judge the Abomination of Desolation as Samson judged the Sons of Israel!
Dear Jermaine,
Glad your stitches are healing and that the issue of Eugene ‘Goatee’ Azam’s
coffee supply has been resolved. Clever of you to put it under the door
spoon by spoon on your Court Report. Lily is asleep on your last letter,
she sends her love. Been busy today planting azaleas. Thinking
of making another coffee cake or raspberry sponge would make a change.
Dear Ruth,
Sorry about the marriage proposal from Mad Mexican Jones.
I lost your ‘photo in the move and it ended up in the laundry.
The Fire-Breathing Serpent of Absalom is among you! as I said to my new pod mate.
I saw the moon for the first time in 12 years as they bundled me in shackles
across The Yard. Deep down in my heart I hoped that you were seeing too
Find Yourself in our Brand-New Learning Environment
In the old building, scheduled for demolition, in a nameless carpeted space somewhere near the Board Room where no-one ever goes, silent except for drip-drip from the ceiling into the fire bucket propping open the fire doors, is a white model of the new building, invisible dust descending on a white purpose-built table, a white world without shadow. Walk down the white walkway; turn the corner round the white giant cup, the white spiral, the white cigarette packet and the white gravestone. Find yourself, oh there I am! One of those tiny white bicycles in the free bicycle park, a white bird on an angled white searchlight in an avenue of angled white searchlights third from the left in a colloquy of little white trees.
Ruth Hobson
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