Naomi leans crimplene-neat in her lounge,
reproaching in whisky a sluggard country sun;
companioned by the irrelevant newscaster's
Ruth is slumped, sweat-shirted, in her bed-sit,
hoop-la'ing smoke rings on the grubby London hours;
a pit-stop in her career to independence -
that one horse power affair.
So Boaz will not glean any connections
from his stubblefields - vast between motorways;
glancing up from his dog-eared desolate Penthouse;
seeing the horizon... bare.