London Fog: An Ode to Bloomsbury
Do you know, unwitting dears,
that Bloomsbury coffee cups have ears?
Chatter, clang, goes their gossip,
as they bathe in foamy sinks,
after carrying our drinks,
hushed and posed, letting us sip,
paying heed to our addiction
to the soft marshmallow tip
of latte-ed beans - that once were cupped
by seasoned working hands - now fuel our
aching laughing chatter,
feminisms overrule our
careful chiseling at matters
entertained by our vocation
for illuminating puzzles:
philosophic penetration
while our musings of the dreamy ilk
that dare to fantasise and chase,
are kept in clouds of woven silk -
so pretty in their hiding place -
like tea bags clotted in frothed milk
but all of that, the cups can hear.
if you only knew, my dear…
Your fingers hold, tight and taut,
our twisting, tessellating thoughts
marked 1-8, red and blue,
black, green, unfold our clue…
our origami fortune jeu
to...
