Interlude

In honour of Andrew Motion's decision to withdraw from his lifelong appointment as Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom, as it was sucking the writerly inspiration out of him and the Queen would not give an opinion on his work, I have written the following verse:

Andrew Motion succeeded Ted Hughes
In the tenured pursuit of the Muse.
(Don't know why) he expected
To be read and redacted
By the Queen, who has much else to do.

So the Laureate would churn out his verse
For anniversaries, birthdays, and worse,
While the Queen petted corgis
And held hat-shopping orgies
And did what all monarchs should do.

Inspiration gave way to despair
And the Poet, deplucking his hair,
Said, "Enough! I won't take it
I'll no longer fake it
There are way better things I'll go do."

And the Queen in her secret retreat
At the rum little pub down the street
Wrote a victory sonnet;
The host, stumbling on it,
Cried, "So the next Laureate is — you!"