with grace, head held high
she carries herself serenely
(King Charles walked and talked
half an hour after…)
unassailably regal as those who have learned
to ignore homemade bombs peasants
pitch in their faces
she carries herself
no support
she knows
she knows
she believes them, and believing
will never trust again
moving?
as if on castors, slightly stiff but
caring?
unbowed. Steadfast, her face composed
grey-eyed
she must know
dry-eyed
who’ll help?
dignity a shell
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Australian-born, with English mother, has lived in several Australian cities and in London. Travelled widely. Way way back when, published widely as a poet and short story writer. For the first 20 years of my working life I worked as an entertainment journalist, publicist, PR consultant and in advertising and media agencies. In the second 20 years, I worked in marketing roles at non-profit organisations then retrained as a teacher, primarily teaching English to non-English speaking, newly-arrived refugees. Also did miserable McJobs, and a long, happy stint at an art gallery.
