The baghead, he moves through
the lower deck, thinner
than the boys in magazines,
with hungering gentilitie,
spaniel eyed.
(We're going from the foot
of the Sandon
to the City Road).
Between stops, he makes up
quietness, a maybe grace.
His bit of a reprieve is nearly nothing
but it's here.
"thinner than the boys in magazines..." says a lot, unexpected--
ReplyDeleteIt always astonishes me, how smack can empty people out.
ReplyDeleteSo fine this --
ReplyDeletewith hungering gentilitie,
spaniel eyed.
And the lovely understated and undemanding closing couplet, brilliantly tender and tentatively kindly -- quite affecting.
Thank you, TC.
ReplyDeleteAnd it's lovely to see you here among the wooden pages, Susan.