Oona

She wakes in golden belief, like yellow on a Holsum van, wonders about a novena, each dance is a clone, moves her as no one can, every tune shakes her bones, in sourball colour seasons, the bars are full of men, she drinks within reason, they rise to enfold her, she graces it with elan, green evenings grow colder, barefoot pays minimum heating, its better than having plans, her cabin makes it easier, if communion weighs a ton, between rich and poor man, justice is always done, breaks whatever mould.