Romy

She measures distance down, a screed of wheat, lonely as a public telephone, she won’t drown in song, luminous as the sea, asks if we’re coming along, we’ll have fun in town, careful as can be, puts the brown bottle down, what better cure is medicine, than an oat cake field, trains trundling to the station, being true she casts around, asks everyone she sees, no refusals she’s a clown, when the friends have gone, her drink is whisky neat, lavender linen and eau de cologne she cannot feel her feet.