See us standing successfully here: a seasoned
wearer of a petrol-blue skirt,
a lilac bodice that cups her breasts like
an open calix, with studied childlike mouth
in conversation with a sparkling sharp piece
in deux-pièce, small cape of shot-silk rose-orange organza,
primly salacious side-slit, with strutting tongue -
two yakkety-yakkers, these old show-off chassis, well spotlit
on the softish underbelly, unself-insightfully ready
to taxi beetle-like or formerly
jumbo-lumbering to the good-natured cracking
of oyster shells or other chit-chat.
Oh, seldom harboured heart-depths! Oh, long-flown
career-start with self-selected lady's jacket
over office chair and view of inner courtyard
surrounded by glass, Japanese
conifers, white cobbles, small fountain . . .

Translation: 2005, John Irons