we find a crown in some bins behind the pharmacy
it glimmers green & makes promises
I put it on & say
give me a crown & I’ll be the king of anything
whatever you like let it be that I’ll be its king
I wrap tarpaulin robes around my body
make myself up with lipsticks & spray paints
mince down the sleepy high street
singing rare b sides from the 50s
wake up on a tiled floor
a regal bruise stretching across the
side of my face
outside there is the smell of rain
I find the crown shattered in a car park
manage to save a single glass jewel
which I keep in my pocket
*
sometimes I feel
if it’s still there
& whisper
anything, anything
—
Al Anderson was published in the 2016 UEA Creative Writing MA Anthology: Poetry
