37


dogs have no pores & polish up well


stitched  inflated dog skins
bob upon the water
fixed to nets which drop down deep in darkness
barely sensed boundaries of nothing & knots
4 in the morning & I couldn't brainstorm or sketch
a neckerchief for a ferret
let alone new pastel suits
for the slinky boys of the papal guard
something trundles past the window
no-one says the congestion charge
will keep riff-raff jalopies
out amongst their shacks & ditches
but not much is said these days
build me a cake-stand of Carrara marble
¼ acre should do it (except at Easter)
it must be delightful to lean 18 stone of aristocratic largesse
on one's elbow & look at the horizon with one's eyebrows
everybody thinks everybody else
knows what to think & it's too late to check without sounding thick
easier to buy an apricot poncho
or green rubber duck shoes
just like the ones in the ad
the ones the countess wore last autumn
when the generous sunlight piled gold in every garden
for everyone who could afford a garden
the sun soon goes down
flailing round the cosmos in its brilliant agony
its mad & final conflagration
it's a one-off
a depression of cloud condenses to the west
where the last fish turn & surge towards the nets
those stumpy black buoys glint & tremble in mashed white water
when you touch the boundary
change its shape as much as you can
the dogs are dancing                                    the dogs are dancing





Norfolk         January 2008