The wish to "crawl / into myself / and roll away" is an odd one, because it asks the body to disappear by folding it inward, like a hedgehog or a ball. That opening sets the poem's mood. The speaker is uncomfortable in her own skin and looks for escape, but she can only imagine escaping inward. What follows is a short sequence of private thoughts about ageing, weight, spiritual longing and, finally, a bath.
The grandest moment comes early. The speaker awaits "the true touching / of the Messianic Age / when / love and knowledge / replace / obscene curiosity." The phrase "true touching" sets real contact against "obscene curiosity," the prying, appraising look. The poem never says whose curiosity this is, and it may be the speaker's own gaze at herself as much as other people's. Either way, she imagines salvation as a change in how bodies are seen, with no need for the body to change. Then the poem drops straight into the ordinary: "Getting older / Keep thinking / I havn't begun / Jesus / half a life." The word "Jesus" works as a groan and a name at once, a swear word dropped into a poem that has just invoked the Messiah. The missing apostrophe in "havn't" fits the mood, since the voice sounds unpolished and uncorrected.
The fourth stanza is the bleakest. "The thing grows / in the middle / of the middle / ignorant / of my repulsion." The poem never says what "the thing" is. Reading it as a thickening waist fits "Getting bigger / around the middle," but the vague word and the repeated "middle of the middle" give it a creeping, almost parasitic feel. The body part has its own will and doesn't care that she is disgusted. "Ignorant" is a striking choice here, because it turns the flesh into a stubborn, innocent creature.
Then the viewpoint shifts: "She thought / in the warm tub." The speaker steps back into the third person, as if she can only look at herself from outside. From here the poem turns to objects. The tub is "white / tinny material / which peels / which is rough," and the harsh sounds and the stuttered "which" make it feel scratchy and imperfect. Comfort here is not luxurious. The aside "Can see / why the Greeks / dug tubs" is wry and casual. "Dug" can mean excavated or liked, so the line jokes about ancient bathing and the speaker's own relief at once.
The last two stanzas slow right down. The "green / round, rubber / plug" is described with real attention, and its reflection is "speckled / in hot / and cold chrome." The curved metal distorts the image, a small echo of the earlier worry about how she looks. Yet the tone here is calmer, almost absorbed. The final stanza introduces "Songs for the King's Supper," in quotation marks, which reads like a piece of music playing in the background. Judging by the wording, it is "imported / musical delicacies / after seven." The royal and food imagery contrasts with the title "Queen" and with the growing middle, and it gives the ending a faint irony. The poem closes on "proper to / a warm tub." After "obscene," the word "proper" feels like the speaker's gentle return to decency and rest.
Formally, the poem is free verse with no rhyme and no regular rhythm. Lines are often only two or three words long, and the breaks create pauses. "When" sits alone on its line, as if the speaker is literally waiting, and "replace" gets its own line too, so that the idea of replacement carries weight. Stanzas vary in length and focus, which makes the poem feel like drifting thoughts rather than a planned argument. The repeated "warm tub" works like a frame, and the thoughts about the self are surrounded by water.
What makes the poem worth reading is its honesty about mixing high and low. Messianic hopes, middle-aged dread and a rubber plug share the same space, and nothing is neatly resolved. The longing for a world of "love and knowledge" is never answered, but the bath offers something small and real. The poem suggests that when grand salvation doesn't arrive, a warm tub and some music may do for an evening.