Three Poems
Andrew Motion, 28 June 1990
“... sun, like the ... fuck it: who cares? Cut In a break for ads I glimpsed the bar where I used to be young. A Thirties detective was quizzing a local in clouds of tobacco: flocks of pewter flew up the wall, a horse-brass winked, and there on my tongue was your darkest secret like Old Virginia. What became of the boy who arrived on the dot of visiting hour and ... ”