RICHARD THE THIRD’S HUMP            

  

You can step off the train at Penrith,

And the first thing that you see might be

The ruins of Strickland’s Tower--

Or the McDonalds’ golden arches besieging

The hungry ghosts in the castle’s keep,

Urging them to lay down their shields,

And get in line for a Happy Meal

Of flesh they need not see dismembered.

 

O Stalwart bastion against the Scottish raids!

The roots of bracken, feckless feet of tourists

Disintegrate the sandstone into red dust

That swirls about the advertising campaign

Squatting heavily upon our shoulders,

Like the hump of Richard the Third--

Leaving us to rehearse that role,

And exit the scene tragically.