The Gnus

by grimbeau



Wind has gotten up,


must have overslept.


On the coals up north all night if you ask me:


stopping trains;


leaving bad leaves on the lines,


causing hazards,


hazards strewing huge bleak,


Elkless causeways.


Whistling down closes, windswept


cloisters, alleys and avenues,


soft, flyblown parades and promenades.




The North and the people are tough, soft things.


They can take it, like cockneys in the Blitz


or Peter Sarstedt in empty Biarritz.