if only for ten minutes <br /> <br />after the mass feeding of schoolchildren <br />after the careful inanity of the staff <br /> <br />at low tide <br />this was the place <br />for calm, for order of a kind <br /> <br />the relief of walking there <br /> <br />and the smell was acceptable <br />perhaps even preferable <br /> <br />the objects to be <br />seen <br />found <br /> <br />principally (I have it still) <br />a short fat halfpound brass bolt and nut <br />virgin, unscrewed <br /> <br />other things less permanent <br /> <br />sodden grey bones <br />scratched glass, rubbed brick, rusted gatebutts <br />once a chaffinch eggshell <br /> <br />every conceivable other <br /> <br />but mainly dirty shingle <br />silt <br />prairies of malachite slime <br /> <br />though was the important thing <br />that I met no one else there?<br /><br />BS Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-thames-at-mortlake/
