11 SEPTEMBER 1982, Page 21

Seeing the point

Lately, he has recalled those medieval tombs He'd biked for miles to see and sketch With a young, yes, sardonic pity for the wretch With toads clamped to his eyes, And the cheerful belly sunk to a chewed bag, Observed by vigorous men holding their noses.

Lately, he has thought within his chilly rooms, Looking out into the dark And beyond the wide street to the wider park, Of his own fogged sight, the surprise Of pain wired through his guts after the lag- Tide of eating and drinking. Night closes, He's thinking, recalling high hedgerows, lanes and mallows, the traces Of spun webs, the spin of his wheels, And of the way it feels To watch swifts gather, ready for other places.

Avril Bruten