Queen

You ask for the crown jewels
Which seems excessive but
I’m not in a position to argue.
After all, I did promise I’d
Clear the lower half of the garden
This afternoon and you came home
From work to find me
Eating a Maltesers ice cream
And watching the video for Thriller.

I make a rudimentary plan
Sketch it out on architect’s paper –
My mate, Geoff, who owes me a favour,
Will pretend to be the risen Christ
And while the security guards gather to hear
His teachings I’ll sneak beneath the velvet rope,
Bust the glass case with a toffee hammer,
Load my rucksack with the requisite crown and sceptre
Then peg it through the woo, woo, woo
Of lunging sirens, Geoff’s ruse wearing thin
By this point. I’ll piss off
Down the Thames on a blow-up dinghy.

It doesn’t quite turn out that way.
Geoff fools no one
But starts a scrap anyhow.
I use the commotion to slip through
But when I get home it turns
Out the crown is the wrong size
And I have forgotten to pick up
The dog’s prescription from the vet.