Semi-Basement, Kensington
The hooters drove away the hooves, outside ; The policeman changed his uniform and shed His beard: but inside, through the years, still dwelt The rosy priestesses who baked and fried In their bright temple, where the incense smelt Of herbs and spices, coffee and new bread.
An icy whirlwind drove away the cooks ; The saucepans stood no more in shining rows. A heavy curtain veiled the area door. Within, steel helmets hung on rusty hooks With service respirators: on the floor The stirrup-pumps lay in a coil of hose.
A stack of files, a cup of tea and thou Beside me in the Ministry. . . . Trays IN And OUT appeared ; red tape, blue suit, gilt crown, Full pigeon-holes, were Ministry enow. Your servant's faithful hand, as you looked down, Dropped ashes in an old tobacco tin.
The bureaucrats withdrew. Now, when you pass, You see a neat bed-sitting room below, Where someone's secretary dreams of love. She dreams and gazes in her looking-glass As her ancestress did, three floors above In the same house, a hundred years ago.
RONALD PALM
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