Foul Tempers and Mud

Remixed Found Text from “Bleak House” by Charles Dickens
and my own recollections of November 1990, Bletchingly Surrey

 

Foul Tempers and Mud

I am from a place of wood, green
needled hills, and high toned scents,
acidic and antiseptic from sap,
and in the summer heat, trees snap
and tick like the workings of a clock,
but this is not such a place. Here
pressed into implacable weather,

here where streets are blackened
drizzle and fields that retire to mud.
Dogs, cats, children and cars,
pedestrians all, foul tempered
with foot-holds slack on crust
upon icy crust. And truly, I thought
the sun dead as the day broke

over Mead Lane today. I cough
through snowflaked fog, and pray
God that I’ll not die in this place.
This new home, this new sense
that my feet beg to wander, to roam
far from this place. But I know I shall
never return to that home of green.

And what of that sound;
a bird; a call; an owl’s drawl…

 

 

 

 

Remixed: “Bleak House” by Charles Dickens
and recollections from November 1990

 

 

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