Natural History Museum

Blue Whale.

Enormous.

I saw it as a boy, excited,

Young enough to convince myself of anything... Like...

The fact that it was real.

Older, I can see

The marks from carving,

The fairly expert blends

Of paint.

Now all I see

Is a plaster depiction

The size of a Zeppelin,

Moored with wires to a hanger of a roof.

The little boy awakes,

He squirms around my head.

Although invisible, he stands beside me.

He says "My version is worth a listen,

It's so much better than

What you call Reality”.

“I know why it has dents.

One of the hazards of drifting past Harrods:

Some very sharp corners on buildings in Knightsbridge".

And the hasty repairs

To the scrapes on the belly?

"A badly judged flight over Buckingham Palace,

A flagpole in the way.

He often goes past.

The Queen stands on tiptoes

Up on the roof,

It gives her extra height.

She dips a hand

(Yes, white-gloved and jewelled)

In a bucket of plankton

And throws it high for the whale to catch -

She likes to watch it drift in his shadow.”

A Royal wave and the wipe of a tear

As she holds the hand of a little girl

In a gold and diamond coronet,

And they walk to the stairs

To the public world below.