Evening is part of the jig-saw truth of her, <br />ply-wood ply-flesh, her insolent reply <br />blinding the ace with a straight shot to centre, <br />the woman's a delicate devil in twenty places <br />blander and blonder, tinder tenderly <br />setting the smiles on fire in men's faces. <br /> <br />On any evening gets you ready for dark <br />swathes and saves you for the magic carpet <br />spirits you anywhere anytime anyhow <br />over the bridges the tunnels the hills the foothills <br />the pools lakes oceans cataracts crystal floes <br />the mountains and fountains the antique windows of space, <br />the deserts orchards vineyards milky ways, <br />over pontoons and the silting tracks of moons <br />over the decks and the docks where the clocks <br />chime, anywhere anytime, anyhow, any fresh place. <br /> <br />Anywhere where winds blow and babies grow <br />where poor men wait for money in a row <br />where magnates buy and sell your heaven and hell, <br />anyhow whether the storm runs over the roof <br />or hollow tooth aches or gangrene takes the soul, <br />anytime when the sun splutters and throws shrapnel <br />between the legs of dead men and mad lovers, <br />she will be there to hold you by the cuff <br />to give you all her stock of luck or love. <br /> <br />With <br />two round lips and two round eyes <br />and two round ears and two round palms <br />and two round arms and two round thighs, <br />any child, any girl, any woman, any surprise.<br /><br />Francis Scarfe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ode-in-honour/
