augury doggerel

Sunday, June 29, 2003


What's left of wee stuttering Jock Brown and his years on the railway but what I remember of what she remembered? Where's his wife Mem and her years in the jute mills? It's the old vanishing trick, a secret we pass down. If you'll turn your attention this way, ladies and gentlemen, Alexander and his lovely assistant Mnemosyne will reveal to you the Rawalpindi market, the crowd, an Indian boy stealing a bunch of bananas as big as himself, a bullwhip cracked, the river and circling crocodiles. All this and more, all the rum at sea and torpedoes and the hammock swinging, all Detroit by tarmac and frostlight, all Niagara in girders and wind, all the fireflies and waterfalls and glens, will appear here tonight, take form in this air we breathe now, and blink out.


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