A Show of Respect

I am thinking about Elizabeth II. Perhaps because I'm working on another poem about the Royals or maybe because I'm on my way to London later this week. Whatever the reason, I'm simply reminded of her.

A Show of Respect

Scolded into listening to an ancient

radio airing solemnity and pomp,

a lad of ten fiddled with a homemade

rubber-band gun, refought WWII

and stopped the Japanese invaders.

A day off from school more valued

than the coronation of a Queen

half-a-world away.

Singapore, a British colony, still

dotted with dirt floor huts and wads

of spittle on the street.

After the Brits pulled out

and a refashioned flag waved,

after teardown of tottering kampongs,

after Prada, Coach, and Tiffany opened,

after his committed move to America

allegiance to this Monarch persisted

like a whisper's shadow.

When Elizabeth II died at 96, he roused

himself predawn, groaned-off his own

telltale aches of aging,

and honored the Queen by marking

her funeral in real time streamed live

from London.

iPad fixed in his hands, morning paper

beside him. This time he paid attention.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor