Bumped into 'em in Betty Stone's in the Arcade -
their usual soppy grins, as if they'd won a prize
or found the year's best bargain. Tiny vacant eyes,
of course. A couple of hillbillies dressed to kill!
The big, broad brim of his black hat scrunched in his fist;
his pretty, floral coat (you'd not be seen a corpse
in such a thing); black knee-high boots that disappeared
beneath his hem of emerald green; and curly hair.
He was a lad, all right! Was he not just! And she,
not far behind: a hem that swept the ground beneath
the greens, dull reds and prints of striking blooms; all this
topped off with hair piled high, more tightly curled than his.
To see them there among the mouldering antiques,
it still came as a shock to think that they were born
and raised for exile. Just for that. Two people, grand
as Louis the Fourteenth and his eventual wife...
What were they doing there? Chinese, by birth, of course,
not meant for there - or here. Shipped expeditiously
to France, before Sat Navs, I fear, two figurines,
two porcelains of such outstanding beauty that
they looked too out of place in Betty Stone's Antiques.
See them here
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
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