I’m developing a kink for Thin old men in grey cardigans Who lean on country fences And watch the wind. Not the gaunt of ill mind or waning body. Not the narrow of a too-small mouth and a too-big religion. But the shape of someone easily distracted By words, or birds, or maps, or pebbles. I smile into my kink of sunlit comfort As I pass their ripe garden and orderly shed. But it’s only a moment, this cardigan fancy. For I doubt they’d take to My frockcoats, and stars, And spiders on Mars.
Image credit: NASA: Jamming with the ‘spiders’ from Mars