TWO MORE POEMS

Late; the candles are burning down

He is writing to Stella. He knows we’re there.

Posterity always looks over his shoulder

Noting he had dinner with Patty Rolt

And will have a plum-cake for breakfast

(A gift it was, from Stella’s mother).

Meniere’s bells are always ringing in his ears;

There are always ghosts from the future.

He imagines we are there for his wit

Or to better know Harley and Bolingbroke.

“P a a a s t twelve o’clock!” The passing watchman,

Dead three hundred years, is calling still.

It is to hear that call and, perhaps,

For the plum-cakes that I have come.

ALL QUITE TRUE

Thistlewood was hanged

On a day filled with music;

Masked chimney sweeps

Danced at every corner.

The Princess Lieven

(Who, in her sleep

Composed good poetry)

Wrote to Metternich

That she was sad.