The Last High Queen Of Ireland Poem by Caroline Lazar

The last High Queen of Ireland hears the voice of God,
just as her forefathers did.
He talks to her every day.
He tells her what
a queen should know.
She tells Him to be quiet,
then asks for information
(numbers for the lottery, who will win the 3.15 at York)
but God is not interested in such things.

When the last High Queen of Ireland goes to the races,
she tells the punters of her royal birth. They buy her double whiskeys.
She would prefer a tribute of vodka, but the whiskey slips down well enough.
She tells them, "Never cross a High Queen of Ireland", and they never do.
Her landlord crossed her once. He doubled her rent.
She cursed him with an ancient unspeakable curse.
He was impotent. His hair fell out.
But he did not believe in curses, and made her homeless anyway.

The last High Queen of Ireland rents a one-bed council flat.
She queues in the Post Office on Thursdays to draw her English pension.
She has lived in England all her life,
but she was born to the north of Dublin,
at Tara, seat of High Kings.
Her mother made sure of that.

The last High Queen of Ireland lives in King's Cross.
It is two centuries since a king built his cross there,
a modern king who did not talk to God.
By then, the High Kings of Ireland had lost their kingdom.
The modern king did not know
there is a fragment of the true cross in the local parish church,
but the last High Queen of Ireland knows. God has told her.