Kick Off
September fresh we start again,
by early autumn nipped to ruddy life.
by early autumn nipped to ruddy life.
New season’s paint has reddened smooth
my fragrant iron resting place.
my fragrant iron resting place.
The terrace choir’s achant,
brown baritone and tenor bright.
brown baritone and tenor bright.
And holy Bruno climbs from briar censers
as Bovril salts my tongue.
as Bovril salts my tongue.
And there you stand:
Brylcream-slicked and shiny-shoed,
your china-blues ablaze,
your Woodbine-yellowed fingers
shoveled thick and calloused
kindly holding me.
shoveled thick and calloused
kindly holding me.
And I,
thrilled by bigness smalling me,
otherness calling me,
thrilled by bigness smalling me,
otherness calling me,
Gifted, belonging and beckoned on,
I know from you I will not run for fancied wealth to slops
I know from you I will not run for fancied wealth to slops
nor break my bonds for freedom-false but
rest content
and dream of what will one day be.
Then, as pigeons flap from floodlight frame
and, haloed, hover,
echoes down the years:
“This is my
beloved
in whom I am,
in whom I am
well,
in whom I am,
well, pleased.”
