Twin gates pin back the factory's exodus
Then, swinging wide, the lusty chestnut trees
All spit and polish
Slough people from the lanes of yew,
And the shriven windows bless the cobbles chant,
Pure for an hour.
Ploughing tram lines take people's aspirations
And plant them, sleeked in order.
The factory machinery goes on, the strangely separated parts
In isolation coil through drifts of seeds.
…..
The chew of cars and motor bikes
With fury grinding at delay,
The wack of heels,
And acrobatic sweeps of bikes
Boil up and shoot the road and stretch the bridge.
…..
Drifting, as if in boulevards
Of lotus curve and spilling rose,
Typists dream their lunch hour dreams,
And back arch in the tender clasp of suns.
Suddenly, in the heat, bare feet take to the understanding grass,
And park bench, oak and spire are jiggled in the sieve of unrequited dreams
As bright legs rush to sandwich spots
To curl up by steep lime crush beams.
…..
And in the rhythmic heat, a strange girl rises up,
And like a freckled flute, her brown skin tune
Holds up striations through her spindling legs.
…..
1961
Mary Argent copyright