The ninth will be a good year
Closure will make composure mine,
Like Stephen Rea I’ll dance up on the parapet of the Pont Neuf
(And like myself I’ll spit into the Seine). Like him I’ll know
My measure, keep my balance, keeping pace. Breaking
Into song when you expect it least, I’ll give
My smile to everybody but my laughter to a few.
I’ll grow my hair into a shaggy shock and wear a scarlet coat and the ninth
Will be a good year. Dancing along the length of the Pont Neuf I’ll see
The world for what it is – a clutter of house-hold lights at night
Shining beyond their proper place with might.
