Kilpeck Corbels

Green seizes fields, yields

sandwiches and chaff.

Hear Jack laugh.

And May to May, hey

Nick signs souls

supposedly.

Ring-a-ring-of-skin-sins

Adam and Aileen

Jack-in-the-Green

Sheela-na-gig and one greased pig,

the trawled, the bald, the stale

the fresh.

Appetite made flesh.

Sheela’s the one, phew,

form a queue and

hymn her,

swim her, come and

get it, warm it, wet it, then

confess it. Take a bath.

Hear Jack laugh

behind

your back.

Men scrap, birds snap,

a presto set-to

frets the mezzo:

diva, tired,

strums a dance-around for

Mayday lovers, puppy dog

a giant cod, the lamb of

God, folk out of step and

wired.

A fevered dream? A scream? Oh

either, both. Meant to fire up

the limbic, have you

foaming at the eyes and

making owl sounds.

The moon, the sun, dust, ash

hear Jack laugh

- see big-eyed Sheela

our dumb heroine

all agape to

yawp the wildlife in.

Colin Sutherill