Royal baby birth poem: Eating Placenta

Don’t ever accuse me of being behind on the news. I’ve been keeping up with the momentous event via regular reports from The Onion, and very grateful I am too. Otherwise I might have missed it.

As poet laureate of Hackney (I’ll arm wrestle you for the title), here’s the first draft of my offering.

EATING PLACENTA: lines on the royal birth
23 July 2013

Daddy was bloodied by foxes,
Grandma was bloodied by paps,
Remember this, sweet boy child
When you’re sucking on Catherine’s baps,

You are a platinum baby
In a diamond year glistening with gold,
Born at a supermoon risen,
Whose drama has yet to unfold.

Destined to party your lifetime,
The number of the feast,
Rationalised by philosophers
And ratified by your priests.

Land mines will protect your empire,
Water-cannon govern the streets,
A chip in the brain of your subjects,
The path to your happiness greased.

Soon there will be a nice supper,
Cementing the bonding of friends;
Princes and queens and hard men,
All greatest of chums in the end.

Here is our flesh since the old times
Here is the blood in our veins,
A thanks to the newborn among us
A toast to immaculate reign.

With god on our side,
We say open wide
It’s what top people do,
Eat afterbirth in stew.

(c) Anna Chen July 2013