Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

behind the gleam of glass, the dark assembly
browns and blacks
           woolen coats
                       snoods
           scarves and stockings, silver gloves

brimless hats of felt

twelve figures
                        a hand held back
a hand reaching

stop and look, disheveled October shopper
           bodies in full cover for the season

backlit
                        shadows in front
the mannequins
                                          wait
dressed appropriately
            from some cold
                        occasion

heads turned all one way
            in disciplined acceptance

of the formal coming
                       of winter

ii

at my sunny doorstep
soundless footsteps,
a choreographed arrival.

briefcases, polished black
leather. I open the door,
they stand expressionless,

faces remote. bald sun burning
cracked earth, dry tangle of vines
flakes of light fall on their heads.

what have you come
halfway round the world
to sell me?

this is the postwar style
of Europe, few can afford it.

a mere glance tells them that
I cannot, they turn as one
to leave,

and though I call out wait,
I have credit, they have already reached
the street, one throws

a negligent silver scarf
over an elegant black shoulder.

iii

a dozen dark-clad figures playing,
throwing snowballs! In Texas August!
how gracefully they heft the missiles back
to throw, the tall one leaning forward,
the twins playing catch. a shorter figure
(at far left) cupping her hands,
forming a ball. could that be laughter,
the sound in the wind like aspen leaves,
like fluttering paper?