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| The queue for Queen Elizabeth II's lying-in-state is visible from space in this photo taken Sept. 16, 2022. (Image credit: Satellite image ©2022 Maxar Technologies @Maxar via Space.com.) |
We feel
it is a very
British thing,
the queue.
That we
invented it,
monopolise it,
transformed it
into art.
We queue,
best foot
forward, wearing
stiff upper lips,
displaying
plumes of
peacock pride.
For centuries
we have practised;
in war time
ration lines,
supermarkets,
airports,
Wimbledon.
It agitates
our sense
of fairness;
we are ready
to be tested,
to fight
for our
rightful
place.
Now,
we have
the mother
of all
queues.
A record
breaker,
meandering
for miles,
flowing
like the
Thames through
the heart
of London.
A pulsing
tail of
humanity,
from Britain
and abroad
eager to
embrace
a marathon
of waiting
and be a part
of history.
No agitation
here, instead
a camaraderie
of shared
experience,
of sorrow.
At last,
there is
the end.
A pause,
in which
to bow
our heads.
Pay respects.
Duty
bound,
it seems,
to say
farewell.
Annie Cowell grew up in Northern England. She is a former teacher who lives by the sea in Cyprus with her husband and rescue dogs. She is widely published in Popshot Quarterly, The Milk House, Paddler Press, and more. Her debut chapbook Birth Mote(s) is now available.
