Broom In Hand
I have been fond of grey since finding Whistler's
Mother, grey with a modest black and white ...
a chastity in Quaker terms. Winds
that freak the blossom over greening slabs
translate the line of paving to this house
into a grey of churchyards, into fading
spectacles after winter weddings.
No matter how you look at it, such
commemoration of a festive instant
has to go. Sweeping makes the cleaner
job of it, though low on speed. Not
to sweep encourages a heap of gibes
from paper-boy and passer-by, a fling
of views. It would seem ...