Pour Lo'

We ate outside on the lawn, on a bench (at the end of the table) that we'd made into a throne. After duck, cassoulet, red from Burgandy, rosé from Spain and white from Tuscany - oh, how I remember Florence! - you had a small fit and ran to bad bed. I, slow and ponderous, crept up after you. You complained about lost happiness - where was your Ardis? - and told me your tears had all gone. I bought you water, you cried again, and smilingslightly told me that I had re-filled your ducts. Then shouting mother told us we were off to Dartington, where you wanted ice cream and a very small escape. We drove en masse in the guest's Alfa Romeo and J.s Audi. We arrived an fled from the group. We sat and read the film program and I pointed out French films and silents that I wanted to see. You complained you had no pen and read me some Ted Hughes which was all very violent. Have you realised that they are both your poets? Do they feed off one another. When we bought ices I had no money. You bought mine and offered me a coffee which was very nice and made me love love you. I adore the contrast between the cold and the hot. After I had showed you all the films I wanted to see and we had discussed London we heard the others. We tried to leave but could not. We had to wait outside - by the arch, oh the arch! - and I read you randomly selected excerpts from The Love Song of... and The Waste Land. At home we were happy for a while.