When at Cambridge I was bound by urgent
torments of prejudice. Not just the fears
of status jealously desired but
immeasurable views, a paralax
of shadows, a chiaro-scuro of
moorish taste. He fat, she common, he wrong,
she right. Always a frame like a butcher
evaluating, scouring the block.
The memoried practiced eye weighing his
tropes of old, or hers, now them or other.
Much like an abattoir or a hangman’s
skills at suffering, perhaps easing death.
Now, time apparent has wrent the forms once
learned. Years like a lathe reduced and shaped
the stump, the lumpen gnarled yet curious
array. Smoothed in places, smothered elsewhere.