Sunday, 16 September 2012


I remember lots of happy local locusts. 
Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks
And two short planks.

But happy certainly.  Eating their greens,
Enjoying each others’ company. 
So happy they didn’t know they were happy.

One holy day we watched them swarm,
Shove off, scarper, push off, hop it, skedaddle,
Buzz off southwards.

The locusts were leaving the locality.
When they swarmed they ate the sun,
Made a someone-scored-for-England noise.

One moved they all moved
No locust any otherwards.

Which had me thinking deep and clever thoughts,
You, let’s face it, Piggles, could not share them,
About the unfailing logic of the earth.

You sat on your question-mark tail, waiting for supper,
Thick as a dozy locust but less happy,
What were you good for?  I asked myself.


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