The Queen Is In Her Counting House. A poem by Rhona Greene

1984 is that book about Big Brother by what’s his name
that everyone pretends they read
a bit like Ulysses by yer man, Joyce
and 1984 is the year my heart was broken
and these things are not connected
except for 1984, which, in the end is just a number
and these days it’s all about numbers
yesterday it was 43
the day before
the day after
and all the days to come
will be counted
one for sorrow
two for joy
people become numbers
everything will be counted
and it’s 2020
and my heart is broken
and the Queen is in her counting house
and these things are not connected.
I dabble in poetry.

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