BAG OF SHADOWS:

We’re leaving in twenty five,
Twenty two minutes,
Driving into one of those fantastic,
Mid-Wales,
Low-cloud days,
Infinite,
Luminous Grey,
The cut-out flats of hedgerows growing fainter
Like that schoolboy painting trick,
Implying distance,

Remember the first time we saw that,
In art classes when we were teens?
The teacher more interested in his prize winning model planes,
Than his students?

Remember arriving,
To find the inevitable knocked-off impression,
Of trees & hedgerows?
A vane attempt to kill our love of art,
As he settled down to ignore us,
Demanding we ‘copy that & keep quite’

(K)