1961? Sagné

129. 24th November 2021

A fragment of memory emerges from my unconscious.

An old lady with white hair and bright blue eyes.

She was sitting on her own at the next table.

I was wriggling miserably on my stool in Sagné,

Feeling that I was going to die of boredom,

That deep sick surge of monotony,

As Mummy chatted to her friends,

Mostly in Hungarian, occasionally in French,

Rarely in perfect English.

The lady leaned towards me and said, very cut glass,

“Look at the walls.” And I looked

At the lovely murals of the garden

With trellises and statues and vine leaves

Which I loved — but was BORED WITH!

When you’re little, boredom can actually hurt

In your tummy, make you feel sick.

She said to me, “Where are the people?”

*

I looked again at the lovely garden on the walls.

Of course there were people, just hidden

By the roses and cupids and urns.

People having parties and playing hide-and-seek,

Dragons and teddy bears and beautiful maidens

Playing in the lake around the corner

Which couldn’t be seen with your eyes.

The lady sat back, drank her espresso,

Satisfied. Her job was done.

***

Obviously, you should buy me a coffee.

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