He’s promised to cut an autumn hedge,
Been putting it off – and he knows it –
But this is the time for the shears,
That and the reckoning. For long pendulum moments
He stands: foolish, forlorn, close to being forsaken,
A million and more Perdition Highway miles
From being forgiven. The truth settles closer,
Like a must-wear shroud.
His fingers, fumbling in the act of
Bringing Lucifer to one more forbidden fag
Falter and shake: no boat for him,
That was just chewing smoke.
But he has reality’s answers to seek,
Before the tendrils of insidious truth,
Of Hallowe’en mist strangle the colours
From All Soul’s Michaelmas daisies
And the fallen clock sundown
Summons the oyster fungus shades.