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