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P. 33
Gone Walkabout
Malcolm Povey
When, having nervously parked the car
in the car-packed Purbeck village,
we follow the path, into wind,
to the coast, the signs that warn
CLIFF FALL and you snag your ghts,
you in your big, black coat that won't
keep your throat warm, you who climb
many a s le with me, the thick mud
wai ng for both of us, my solid shoes,
your high heels, and I see your white leg
farthinged through nylon, farthing
you say, do you remember the wren?
and I joke, four things to a penny.
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