Leviathan
Something has grown too big for the pond: first the moorhens disappeared
then the ducks (corner-of-the-eye stuff,
nothing strictly attributable).
The Canada Geese stayed, but looked as if they knew
something they'd rather not think about.
A goat on the village green went mad overnight.
Then pensioners living nearby
started to peg out: heart attacks mostly
and always at Meals-on-Wheels time
(the body on the rug, the cartons emptied).
Alice Weevil went missing altogether.
A builder up a ladder, on his mobile,
didn't at first hear the flub of something
working its way up the rungs behind him.
'Quick Reg,' were his last words -
'get the pond drained - don't wait
for the Council - there's a huge, unbelievable -'
Getting Out of Hand
Experimenting with virtual reality
she calls up a good-sized house, and in it she pops
Rupert Brooke, who comes out of his study
muttering octosyllabics and twisting
his inky fingers through his famous hair.
Remembering his penchant for anguished passion
she summons Charlotte Brontë - but something goes wrong
and it is Branwell who turns up, though it doesn't seem
to matter, and he falls into conversation with Rupert
about the rail service to Lulworth Cove.
They settle down for tea, and here comes Jane Austen
handing round the bread and butter. Cup in hand, she
leafs through a volume of diaries
found on the coffee table. Her eyes widen
and she drops the book with a nervous glance
over her shoulder, but there is no sign
of the author, for Joe Orton (if on the premises)
is engaged elsewhere. More figures
materialise, and surely someone will have to wash
the cups - though that doesn't look like a butler
limping in through the French windows, saturnine
and patrician, with a dangerous-looking hound in tow.
Someone who understands these animals is needed a.s.a.p.
and Conan Doyle springs to mind - being also qualified
to advise about the foot - but no, surely that's GBS
cycling bossily up through the garden
ready to sort everyone out, if he can make himself heard
above the shouting and barking. Now they're all
comparing something, and fragments of speech surface:
Missolonghi... mosquito... my best apple tree.
