KENSINGTON
So … this is how I broke my leg. Or, no,
How someone broke it. Lanky lunging prick.
A bright November morning, just below
The Palace, whistle barely blown, first kick,
I’m sharp, then, late as midnight, here he cracks.
I hear it. “Fucking cunt!”. I land. And “Aaoaah!”
Lie down and do not move. For days, in fact.
I’m calm, and quite forgiving, but still …. Aaoaah!
And since I’m calm I’m now convinced I’d thrive
At Dunkirk or the Blitz. I’ve passed a test,
I’ve grinned and borne, my inner steel alive
And well when most unwelcomely oppressed.
That’s how my bones were breached – something like that,
A snap - panache! A whacking crack – eclat!
PADDINGTON
We walked south from St Mary’s. Bright spring day,
First time (of several) we both saw you there,
Through Hyde Park, where we’d later contemplate
Your ashes being scattered, since it was where,
Of London, you loved most, where you’d brought us
So many Sundays, where, the story went,
when told of the birth of your first daughter,
the Serpentine splashed with all that it meant…
We talked. I was surprised that it was me
Who was more fatalistic, more resigned
To the endgame. I had prepared, you see,
For this long, slow descent’s headlong decline.
By Piccadilly, we’d devised a plan
To shun the horror and honour the man.
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