Issue 116, Fall 1990
In Regent’s Park the cleanup’s incomplete.
Though weeks have passed, it seems it’s still occurring.
You drive. We talk. Ambition is a theme.
More lie downed nearer Surrey. You insist
I’m not to tell your parents you now smoke.
Old lovers, then, are out, I know; and news
You see a spiritualist.
Cedars in the circle drive stand untouched.
Your mother’s there. Then Daddy. He’s surprised
And glad I’m not the one he thought I was.
Although your sister’s late, we’ll lunch on time.
My room, I find, looks out on broken boughs.
My name. “The little dining room should do.”
“That’s eighty brace. A City butcher buys
The unclaimed birds.” “The Crippled Children’s. Boards.”
It came at two a.m. “Green leaves were seared.
Right on the trees.”
I’m lent a pair of Wellingtons, a hat.
And mackintosh.Your sister’s husband can’t
Encompass all the opened views. “Imagine.
Centuries old, these.”