dash
The World as It in Fact Is
                                                    Oxford
 
Last night, we took a short walk, and the notch-
tailed swifts sped by us in the open field
that fronts the Thames where Oxford ends. A group
 
of students lingered near a stile. We passed
by rows of houseboats – one with Union Jacks
to take a stand on Brexit. And we spoke
 
of this, of Kant and Andersen – the boy
with ice in his heart, who can’t see the world
as it in fact is – and of Lewis Carroll,
 
who would have known this open field. The rain
held off, despite the cloud massed in the West
the sun was breaking through, while on the pond,
 
ducks and a tern swam, and a few ducks rose
into the evening air to join the swifts.
Beyond the trees lay Oxford with its spires –
 
marking the sky like compass points. The town
had emptied of its students, though their bikes
stood chained against the railings, and a pair
 
of young folk in white tie went by as we
meandered back through England. It gets dark
quite late, in June here. Day came to an end.


John Isbell

 

If you have any thoughts about this poem, John Isbell would be pleased to hear them

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