YOUNG GIRL WASHING, 19/11/10
Scion of the British Empire, fragile slip.
Transplanted far around the earth’s long curve. curve
Our ‘England expects’ her offspring to befit her.
So you sweet child must be espalier grown.
Trained, trimmed, and bent to meet exacting standards.
Husbandry gossomer-light but always there light
To form from you the ideal English woman.
“Did you wash behind your ears? Are your nails clean?”
Mama will ask. Attend to her. She wishes best. attend
Would have in you John Wesley’s ‘cleanly godliness.’
In reaching that perfection, little things have moment. moment
Sadly, my dear, I’m not to see your flowering.
No necromancy can make your times my times.
Never-the-less, I rather think you did us proud,