The Day After Poem by Henry Antony

Catch us crouching in the churchyard, dancing over old bones,
Watch us run past dead bee-hives in ecstasy-nostalgia,
Skip the grey-snake road, with its bitter efficient venom
And its ferries of outsiders, in glowing repressed metal boxes.
Dash out trace old paths through drooped trees, past beaten-up sheds
Past the dreamed gardens built by the forest-deniers, who shaved the woods,
And cut a piece of world for their ownsome lonesome.
Skated down on childhood wings the old hill, used to carve its snow with
Inefficient Soviet sleds. Danced a low tribal thrum hum drum dance on the
Big flat field and threw one another to the ground again and again,
Like beaded lizards from big flat Mexico, dancing without their claws on.