The spirits warm inside,
I succumb to a smile.
Beyond the home that is my table
Assembled articulate transactions merge
Suggesting not achieving music,
The music which is: which pleases the populus,
The populus busies past, passing
Shadows tickling the wall from
The fans, gyrating in the mirror, too,
Whirring rhythmically,
Bodies brushing, glass on glass on
Metal on metal welling from the kitchen,
Voices move and destinies arranged,
They don't disturb me,
Mere thoughts glance, the straying mind,
The spirit's warm inside.

© Douglas Allchin
The Hawk & Dove, 28 June 1980