Late love

What a week! First, I descaled, gutted, and beheaded a fresh-caught trout -- a present from a patient to my aunt/uncle. Ah, the countryside!

Second, I saw my lovely friend Alice again, who dragged me on a beautiful walk along the Thames -- five miles of it! There is a real plethora of swans in england -- they're everywhere.

Third, I  decided to apply for English graduate programs next year, and actually did something about it.

And finally, I rediscovered with joy the poet Jackie Kay, a few of whose poems can be listened to here:

    http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoet.do?poetId=5682

and read in print (I'm one of those neurotic people who needs to see what I'm listening to) here:

    http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/jackie_kay

Here's one:

Late Love by Jackie Kay

How they strut about, people in love,
How tall they grow, pleased with themselves,
Their hair, glossy, their skin shining.
They don't remember who they have been.

How filmic they are just for this time.
How important they've become - secret, above
The order of things, the dreary mundane.
Every church bell ringing, a fresh sign.

How dull the lot that are not in love.
Their clothes shabby, their skin lustreless;
How clueless they are, hair a mess; how they trudge
Up and down the

Publish Post

streets in the rain,

Preview

remembering one kiss in a dark alley,
A touch in a changing room, if lucky, a lovely wait
For the phone to ring, maybe, baby.
The past with its rush of velvet, its secret hush

Already miles away, dimming now, in the late day.