1

If Diana was still here, 

I can bet she’d be Rowling’s foil,  

and much to the chagrin of her relations,

would praise Harry’s not wanting to be royal. 

I bet that she’d love Megan,

they’d sit in her gardens at Kensington, so

Diana could speak freely of luscious black hair 

and dine with her daughter on salmon. 

I always wanted a girl, she’d say lightly, 

and brightly, don’t you think that they’re easier? 

Daily and nightly, you’ll see when Lili gets older, 

it’s not the first born you’ll have to watch after.  

They’d chat about Suits, as Diana loves Suits.

I know she has endless praises. 

You’re changing it from within, 

and as much as I tried, Meg, believe me,

that’s a game of thrones I’ll never win.  

How could she find time to care for the devil? 

So, she still does not care for Camilla.  

But having grown older, her mind now is quieter,

and she sees her Queen not as a villain.  

She sees her instead as an equal,

both of them equal never to her ex, 

or any of the others who stomp hallowed halls, 

deplorable dicks between deplorable legs.  

You can be sure she’d have a lot to say 

when scraggly Sarah comes her way, it never ends. 

You live with that man, sleep next to that man.  

Remember, spite what the press said, we were friends?  

I bet, so far, Diana likes this poem, 

she does, up there looking down on us all.  

The People’s Princess and all her mourners

who once delighted to read of her fall. 

2

If Marilynn was still here, 

by now she’d be well past her eighties. 

Her hair would always be silky and coiffed, 

even if her womb was still aching.  

I bet Diana would fawn over Marilynn. 

Perhaps she’d even visit her death bed. 

I always wanted hair like yours.  

But, it’s untameable, 

that’s what my hairdressers said. 

And Marilynn would take her hand gently, 

I bet. 

Beckon the princess down to her side. 

She’d whisper solemnly in the younger’s ear,

Aren’t you glad, Di? 

Glad that we didn’t go like

those others, lost far too early. 

Though, it is a thing to die slim and pretty.  

Have your sins washed away by one fateful day. 

Personally, I’m stunned I made it past fifty. 

Those blonde locks, forever enduring. 

I’m sure her hair is much softer than it was then.  

Preserved forever in photos, in dreams. 

Much softer than it is, rotted away in her coffin. 

Why is it these blondes are so in my head?

Angels of life and never of death.  

Would I think of ar Di as a saint never canonised?

Would I think of her at all if never she’d left? 

My cynic bets If Diana was still here, 

she’d have tripped up at those royal blues, 

and I’d hate her as much as I do all the rest.  

I bet, these are bets I would lose.