Thanks, old chap.
Violets. Just had a whiff of ’em.
Absolutely fabulous, just nodding in an egg-cup,
and that colour, damn good; deep y’know...
Thanks, old chap.
Quarry tiles. Just noticed the
shine of ’em,
the way the sun lights on ’em,
brings out the warm sort of apricot colour, polished;
absolutely spot on; years of boots turning, bare feet, too,
I daresay;
dogs’ claws, cats’ paws, years and years of ’em...
Thanks, old chap.
Chestnut tree. Got its roots in the earth,
really deep down; moist;
grabbing hold of a load of old rubbish -
bottles, bricks, paste-pots, bent spoons -
and growing up, out.
Jolly good the way the light falls through, sort of larks
about, shifts;
good thought about those leaves; plain, sensible shapes;
interesting, though...
wonderful nuts, later - always shine like army boots, Sam
Browne’s,
and you don’t even spit on ’em...
Thanks, old chap. Kid
brought home a water snail; super thing.
What made you think of water snails? How’d you do it?
Love the horns; it’s climbed out of the jam pot twice...
Thanks, old chap. For the jam pots. Now how d’you work that one?
Never should’ve thought sand was much use, m’self,
and as for seeing through it - bless my soul.
Dare say there’s a good deal I don’t see through...
God almighty, you’re a genius;
absolutely
jolly good show...
(March,
1983)
