To Richard II

M. W. Davis

Which hooligan would think to scrawl that name

Across the soundwalls of the M40?

Let sleeping tragedy lie. What a shame

They couldn’t stay awake in English class.

What’s the half-life now on Heaven’s favour?

When no English heart cries out, God Save King

Richard! will the Good Lord’s love expire

And so disinherit that sacred blood?

Oh, Forgotten: and so the Earth parted,

Dust to dust, and swallowed a nation’s shame.

No working stiffs left to get it started:

The riots, weathered banners,                              Reaction.

Not for you, sweet prince. History shuffles

By, nose down, Alls well, The wells all burning.

M. W. DAVIS is the Quarterly Review‘s newly-appointed Poetry Editor. He is soliciting high-quality submissions at mwdavis(at)quarterly-review.org