:

I shall give to Sue the smell
of a Shetland pony’s saddle
that still steams like a peat bog.
She loves to ride. Clive

will be the owner of this pup: he’ll pat
and smooth where I have smoothed and patted.
I will yell at Jade and Jean from the roof
of the black shed by the white wall; they’ll hear

me clear as a bell,
see butterflies about me
like gust-blown leaves.

John Reeves has lost my trust,
he was the wind who spread the fire
through fields of maize and laughed
as he wormed his way between

beeches and firs.
For him I’ve saved a bucketful
of ash that smells like his breath;
good enough for him to eat.