What Megan Made (with Harry)

A somewhat sickening attempt to make everyone love them,
While seeking license to stand the celebrity shield on its side,
Sums up something new on Netflix today as H and M launch
Their series; revenge and hope floating across the Atlantic

And Public V. Royalty divide. For this is a fairytale freed
Of both Prince and Princesses, as, extricated, fame’s fugitives
Forsake all into which he was born; a Britain bred on excesses,
As they look out on Canadian and then Californian sunsets,

To hear the serenade of the songbird while heeding Hollywood’s
Latest call. They met on Instagram, so we’re told. Do you have anyone
Like that on your insta? Now that tweets can reach Elon and be recorded
By him, well, who knows? We can potentially meet anyone.

Theresa Russell, I love you. After all these years, Kate Bush,
I’m tapping, in the vain and fruitless hope you’ll disclose.
So, to me, their plot points seemed pat, which is not to deny
Their love story. A contemporary Cinderella, albeit with prettified

Friends slash sisters climbs the still greasy pole to a place
Of career dash contentment. A hit TV show calling for her,
Movies made. Fate unwinds. Revealing a boy whose set
Trajectory stunned him; from the tragic death of his mother

To the kind of life lived by his Dad all this time; a period
Of protracted transition perhaps, but with the actual transformation
Uncertain, won only on matters of death and connection, and
The unnatural loss of your line. Apparently H didn’t fit at all

The whole while; the alphabet of privilege speaking for him.
Although in Episode One, he is careful not to proportion blame
On the family still inside. No, it is the paparazzi, instead,
Those bastard sons of Fellini, who make La Dolce Vita

Seem bitter when swallowed down fast and imbibed.
Their intrusions distort. Why then seek this attention? You wanted
To go. You departed, and with a Netflix deal as sweet jibe. Because
Of the books and articles written she says by those unknown to them.

But why then sell your story when attention like this pierces hide?
Why not just disappear with whatever settlement goes with Gucci.
As Jimmy Choo shoes spark and clatter are sweatpants and pumps
Social slide? Why should we care, unless you wish to create a new royalty;

One which will mirror with glitter the way that those set in a certain
Style live their lives. What is your point? Your production company
Make this programme. You have done a deal for exposure and now
Seek the story of how the misunderstood start to thrive.

You used Oprah as your maid and made of Piers Morgan a dragon;
(For him an intemperate creature), but in pulling the red rug under
Royalty, do you want Will and Charles to survive? Or Kate
And Camilla of course. Along with all of those countless children.

Dismiss Anne. Forget Edward. And fuck Andrew! Fuck Andrew!
For falling in step with Jeff’s jive. So, what do you want?
Is this your new show with more acting? Is this Green Card,
Harry meeting Sally, Shameless in Seattle, or a new and untamed

Shrew to assize? Will we be watching some form of Shakespearean
Strain, Romeo and Juliet meets Measure For Measure,
Or a modern Miranda, maddened and married to an acceptable
Caliban at her side? There is no Prospero here, but now they live

On their own magic island. Where their private lives can be public
And where the rules of former secrecy start to die.
Regicide rules. In whatever form it can muster.
The Queen is dead. Watch the Princes. For, in abdication

And across a sliding scale I would wager that time is no healer
And that a life lived chasing light yields no prize.    


                                                                                                         David Erdos 8/12/22




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