Dick

No  more baggage and belongings
Bumping  at my back;
Brown  hide trunks, boxes and
Bellyache
Have buggered-off, for I
Sioughed-off all objects oblong
And  obstinate - no more do I
Wear  Marley's mail, I now own
A  slim stick, a neat red knotted
Handkerchief slung
Featherlight across my neck.

With a head full of
Polkadots 1 am unwitting,
Feckless, and if I were not
Floating with hope, fluted and
Undone,  the unsung heroine of
My  own  hour, 1 would walk
From  here to London town.

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