TWO POEMS
Pastoral
When thin autumnal mists ii' early mornings
Netted the lanes, the elms would droop weak branches
For water to gather on and quietly drip
Upon leaf-carpets trampled on the pathways.
I remember many such autumn mornings
When the pale sun hardly discoloured the sky
And all the noise was the dropping sound of water
Condensing slowly at fingertips of twigs,
And creaking timber groaning in the wind.
That was always the beginning of the cold season
The air drowsy with a langorous fulfilment,
Horse-chestnuts dropping glistening conkers
From split green burrs lined with a snowy satin
And apples shaken from the heavy boughs.
But it is impossible to return to childhood,
And in this town on an autumnal morning
Only a thin fog crawls along the gutters
And a black plane-tree pushing through the pavement
Shrivels, and washing flutters in backyards
Where rise the shouts of the half-starved children.
Ballad
12
After a day of working hard
On a canvas-stitching machine
I meet my love in the cinema
On an aluminium screen.
There was a time when I was young
A young man courted me,
He was a mechanic at Ponders End
In a bicycle factory.
