the rough-hewn man who smells of drink
has eyed me over gaudy patterned seat
as over points we sway
he keeps his feet
in answer to my prayer he carries on
to the toilet
drama over the fields roll past
the back kitchen windows dark
and gardens tended
with swings and climbing frames
once or twice a magpie passes
and the tidy golf club greens
no sooner do we reach our speed
than we brake to slow again
etc
bloody whitsun weddings....
The Blue Book
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