I tried to call you back but your quarantine Plain as a flour-bag, orphanage-issue stuff, They had given you a cut-off top of sorts, You were dry on the lips, hot-cheeked, already gone,ĭrifting away on the high berg of the bed. Of the glass-and-iron dome upping the wildnessīut in your state you thought the screaming came To the baths next door, the banshee acoustic The screaming from the pool was bad enough,īusloads of school kids coming in on rota Where we gave each other rope and scope and snaffle, In the Students Union, the cleared floor like a paddock Later that night, as you jived with me hell for leather Something unbroken, her gift for pure dismay So I smiled straight back, as who should say, ‘Good God, Was the hunting-jacket look of the fitted waistĪnd tailored shoulder, the nifty, tricksy bounceīutter wouldn’t melt in that smiler’s mouth What I loved about that much-snapped scarlet coat
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