1926: Kids

Glyndebourne’s turbine
is that active youth high
on my quick horizon/ In
my foreground a spire’s
weathercock [in uniform
gusts] is less/ God’s bird
pivots indifferently/ Spin
is left to that upstart – it
bleeds sparks/ I’m ribbed
by honest blows as nails
are hammered close by –
perhaps a fence? Here a
kid kicks a ball & another
in a skip [perhaps reclaim
of streets is underway &
they will rewind my view]

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