Poem: ‘Vic’
Kevin Crossley-Holland, 18 July 1985
Stirs; quite delicately sips; yawns over Friday’s yellowed Advertiser ...
Outside is cold as inside is cold, wind flights over the marsh, the walls of the sky drip as Vic already rises, eases himself out, pink and primed,
into the beginning – shapes still inchoate, pewter on oyster, seacoal on zinc. Time never was for pondering.
Banjo far-off on the brew! A taste of plickplack in...