Power

The blankest face
A snowdrop could conjure

Sits absently in court,
Licking at the bit.

Outside a gardener
Whistles ‘Jerusalem’

And her cab drives on
To her solicitor, whose

Secretary is working at the tights
Around her thighs,

Laddered, more laundered
Than her knickers,

Last night’s surprise
Still borrowing her eyes.

Somewhere in her womb
Another lies in wait,

Like the letterbox
Just feet

From the dozing
Husband’s couch,

Motherly, enveloping,
Genuine leather.