Читать книгу Door in the Mountain - Jean Valentine - Страница 21

The Very Bad Horse

The very bad horse doesn't budge until the pain penetrates to the marrow of its bones. —The Buddha

My first own home

my big green “bed-sit”

in London, in 1956

double bed green spread

sixpence coin-fed gas fire

London fog huge little footsteps

TOK TOK TOK

I knew three people

and three more at work

I knew you

I felt around in the dark for Life

and you I picked myself up by the hair

four stories up and dropped me

—Still I wouldn't budge.