The Laureate

Got back from and exciting first day of festival to discover Catherine, my amazing wife, had written a poem about our opening event...
It's brilliant, don't you think?

The Laureate

With polite buzz the audience gather in newly painted expectation
For the arrival of the laureate.
Forgiving his tardy arrival we clap as the evening splutters into motion.
The host of the evening tests the booming microphone
And sets the evening in motion
By introducing the important guest.
Hearing of his much acclaimed career we wonder at his stooping
To join such plain folk
And just as we are feeling that maybe our world’s
Could be part of each other’s
Without warning the words tumble from the host’s mouth
And crash like a tray of glasses onto the floor
‘Andrew Morton’
We know that can’t be right.
‘Andrew Morton’
Is that the laureate’s name?
‘Andrew Morton’
Our brains click into motion
And embarrassment floods the room in waves.
Emotion, which cannot be expressed.
Commotion ripples as we all mutter his name.
Perhaps the tickets were sold in fraudulent action.
Perhaps the stranger before us has more to say
About a dead princess than a dead laureate
But no we have not been hoodwinked
Motion is the man before us
And we now know that motion can move us again.