Invisible hand that jangles the lantern over the porch
and tells the leaves on the pond to imagine they are clippers
and wrenches the shed door , and makes leylandii lurch,
unnerving the cat, wobbling the elderly; that viciously clobbers
pedestrians at the corner, then snatches up bills and payslips
put out for recycling and juggles with them; that gibbers
and squeaks through gaps in your sealed units; that laughs as it swipes
her portfolio of art, the pantechnicon of his life’s work, in fits
when a cone skedaddles like a clown or turning Dalek wipes
the smile off its fierceness and swivels a death-ray that hits
your moped, your chimney, your safest nook, knocking over
five centuries’ peaceful growth. It is its own blitz-
krieg on the establishment. Respect it. Let it recover
equilibrium – be patient – let it blow itself out
and lie quietly, a champion featherweight, a winged lover.
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