The Spoonbill Generator

Naturally We're Coughing

Who comes to answer Pity's call? [TG]

Could it be a man whose full remorse [P]

Extends beyond the City's pall [Roland]

To where the river sets its course [TG]

At zero [Roland]

And will he stand full six foot three? [TG]

Could he be a hero, iron-clad [Roland]

Met beneath the iron tree [P]

Where good is often worse than bad [TG]

My dear-O! [Roland]

And will his feet bestride the Earth? [TG]

Could he be a dwarf, invertebrate? [Roland]

Or will his circumstantial girth [TG]

Crack the planet like a plate [P]

Of liver [TG]

And shall he, with some lustrous quip [Roland]

Leap across the river, glistening [TG]

Like dribble on a leper's lip [Roland]

And ask whoever's listening [TG]

To quiver [P]

He'll come, I feel it in my bones [TG]

& other sage barometers of yearning [Roland]

And pelt me with the largest stones [P]

Until my blood is burning [Roland]

Or boiling [TG]

And then mine exile shall begin [Roland]

Could these tears of toiling now bear fruit? [TG]

From pole to pole their echoes spin [Roland]

Around the globe in cold pursuit [TG]

Despoiling [P]

Contributors: TG, P, Roland.
Poem finished: 15th October 2000.