Ken Bolton / September Poems / 7.


7   (‘Naphtha’)


Bullwinkle—
& classicism,
gravity & the
inane. As
the poet said
“I am ashamed
of my century—
but I have to laugh”





8   (Pronto)


The phone rings …
—again!—
which gingerly I pick up
press the correct button,
it turns out, & Anna’s voice says,
Hi.
“Where is Mum?”
Gelati, I say,
probably in the square

continued

 
 
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