Friday Evening: Battersea Park
A jet trails lines like pink mascara
over the eye of the setting sun,
that settles red on Chelsea roofs
and gilds the river’s ochrous tongue.
Comfortable in the panorama,
the power station masquerades
as a beast that basks in lazy pleasure,
legs stretched high above lengthening shades.
The jade of trees, an emerald skirt,
the glint of boomerang shaped wings:
on a Friday evening, the scene is filled
with hints of sweet, seductive things.
JJHW
1980s, edited 2020
A jet trails lines like pink mascara
over the eye of the setting sun,
that settles red on Chelsea roofs
and gilds the river’s ochrous tongue.
Comfortable in the panorama,
the power station masquerades
as a beast that basks in lazy pleasure,
legs stretched high above lengthening shades.
The jade of trees, an emerald skirt,
the glint of boomerang shaped wings:
on a Friday evening, the scene is filled
with hints of sweet, seductive things.
Jonathan Haydn-Williams
1980s, edited 2020
