A Sonnet For Simon Armitage

The new poet laureate.

Today you shook the Queen’s hand. She gave you

A gold medal and a new job. Ten years

At sixteen quid a day. And some booze, too;

That butt of Canary wine. The Queen! Cheers!

And now you must give her the news in verse.

(It’s hard enough in prose, mate, I should know.)

You must sing the times. And what times! That curse –

“May you live in interesting…” Yes. So

There’ll be plenty on your plate. Brexit? No

Brexit? A new PM. And a new king,

In time? Sure, your ten years will lift the lid

Off many a kettle of sharks, will show

You many a strange and amazing thing

To sing about. We’ll listen. Good luck, Kid.

Envoy:

A poisoned chalice? Well, that’s what fragile

Talents and timid souls say. But you smile,

A golden goblet in your hand brimming

With the Queen’s sherry (you could go swimming –

how many hundred bottles? – in the stuff!).

For what your title means is true enough:

Poetry really matters. A poet

Can be a king (or queen). And you’ll show it.

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