ALL THOSE BOWLER HATS
Like 1967 all over again, those men with the legal
bearing are walking the street - briefcases in hand.
Why there's a Beatles' tune pounding in the back is
well beyond me. I hear nothing but motorcars.
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Two little ladies are bent over. Picking daisies?
Laughing back at something one said? The thin
light air is now piercing their moment. I am asking
for directions to Lambeth Manor. On my way again.
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Never before have so many blackbirds lit down
on this King's Field meadow. Everyone is amazed
at the sight, as I walk through the crowd, watching.
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