Al Fresco

A poem entitled ‘The Picnic’

Yes, I remember Adders Drop –

The place, because one bitter day

Wrapped up in overcoats we picnicked there

Unwillingly. It was late May.

The ground oozed. Someone cleared a space.

No one settled and no one sat

On the sodden grass. What I saw

Was Adders Drop – and a cow pat.

And nettle, thistle, thorn and vetch,

And beetle, bug and hoverfly,

No whit less foul and troublesome

Than the grey nimbus in the sky.

And for that hour relentless rain

Poured down, and round that wilderness,

Heavier and heavier, all the weight

Of hopelessness and haplessness.