Speckled and Smelly
Old books, brown and smelling nicely, That you got for sixpence or so In those hard-up schooldays, or as Student on a paperback bursary- 1890ish, ripe when you were born.
An odour of Dickens. Odour of Sanctity (holy frugality!). The past So cheaply procured for him who had none.
Now you look at the speckles, you notice A smell which is not so nice, As you remember you bought this book New. You are older than it is,
And the smell is probably yours. Or you remark once again that error In the Penguin Roger, that missing 'A,' Which you've come across scores
Of times since you bought it.
And that was in Japan, and you
In your mid-thirties. 'A' for 'Admonish'— Too neat by far for sortes;
And Singapore's so damp: smell of decay, Smell of growth, who can distinguish?— You tell yourself. But even so, The plants should know. Shouldn't they?
D. J. ENRIGHT
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