Mending Lesson

She was called up
in assembly, to show
her perfect darn
in the sock's heel — 
mushroom still inside.

The Head praised her,
gave her the prize —
a sixpenny piece.

It was the right
amount with her savings
to buy the hat
she wanted for church — 
pretty flowers
round the brim.

But the day before
she was to wear it,
her mother, thinking
the Blitz over,
came to take her
back home.

Dear Mrs. Ellington
with whom she'd been
billeted, sent the rest
of her belongings on,
without the hat,
which she couldn't pack
and a postal order
for the six shillings
and sixpence.

   < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < - > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

Snowdrop Month

Salutations to February,
calendars dwarf even with leap years'
extra measures.

Afternoon conjurer of gradual
light, pulled from the universal
golden helmet.

Proxy wooer for winter's union
with spring, yet

capricious; entertaining us with 
a snowstorm frieze on garden hedges
or hails recitative patter to
accompany pancakes, sizzling.

   < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < < - > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

Jackson Pollock Speech

Her speech, like muddled rubber bands
was riddles after her stroke. Her wrath,
gabbled torrents of gutter sounds,
her mirth, chuckles chained to coughs.
For years she yearned to be understood —
goo on-goo on — she'd urge us to pursue
our guessing of her jumbled words.

In her bedroom, still as in a tableau,
the holland blinds half drawn;
her final triumph, an unmistakable goodbye.