FOOTWORK

FOOTWORK 

Neat puffs of cotton wool between her toes,

(the varnish must not smudge on to her skin)

she opens up the little pot, dips in -

a brush-stroke thick with Ripened Cherry goes

from nail to perfect nail in heavy drops;

she's bending forwards, thighs apart, breath held;

her hand is steady till each blob has gelled

and dried to hard enamel. Now she stops

and buckles on strap sandals, zips her dress,

buttons her coverings. It's turning cold;

she waits for Zeus, the swan, the shower of gold;

who else could see she's ready to say yes?

ALLEGRO

 ALLEGRO - ma non troppo

Someone conducts this garden from a score

marked with restraint: 'Be bright but not too much.'

The fuchsia nods consent, the fennel waves

agreement - and they try - but on the staves

of branches hang too many notes. I touch

fruit, petals, leaves and hear the brightness pour.

It's overgrown with colour, quick and light

and far too much to keep: within the plot:

the maestro can't control these laden plums;

blackcurrants riot as the quince tree drums

a roll ... they're on a roll ... they're off ... but not

allegro any more - and much too bright.