
From the very first minute he opens
his eyes, right up to that lyrical-miracle instant
he falls through himself into sleep, Zachary’s
always ― inwardly ― fiendishly busy
with endless renditions of his own personal
national anthem, composed
in honour of the Minimal Kingdom
of Zac. It might sound as if
he’s saying something perfectly banal,
but in his heart of hearts he goes on constantly mouthing
the words of his unique song: God Save . . .
Long Live . . . God Save . . . Send Him . . .
Victorious . . . Happy . . . Glorious . . .
Long . . . To Reign . . . Reign . . .
Reign . . . And when he’s slouching
in a seat; or defecating; or watching eagles turn
slow circles through the air; or helping his father
reset the alarm at the end ―
or the beginning ― of Daylight Saving; or
enjoying a moment of candle-lit mesmerization
in the quiet of his bedroom; or engaged
in some other faintly ridiculous Zac-bloke thing,
still he upstands rather stiffly in himself,
wearing that official-po-faced grovel of a look
we all know so well ― from the inside ―
hand over heart and eyes lifted vaguely
up to the sky. It’s never for a split second
a matter of TO ME OR NOT TO ME.
Actually, the entire truth of Zac
lies in that question perennially unasked
at the absolute core of Zachary-being ―
a border here, a check-point there,
another sly attempt at annexation ―
as he divides his world slap bang down the middle
into Friend and Foe. And so it goes on,
year after year after year, until one day,
like a pop song that repeats and fades from our ears
before reaching its last magic chord,
Zac’s anthem is scratched from the score of the Earth
and his kingdom, smartly erased.