from
Borough Digs
The
graveyards under the railway
and streams beneath the street;
dust on our shoes
was Roman squaddies hidebound feet.
Quaker
and robber and whore they
rub their bones in one bed
whilst at the door
of their stews we knock overhead.
Those
whose slaver is on the pots
broken below these stones
are tongues that shaped
this sea-going tongues rolling tones.
Johnson,
Jonson, Shakespeare, Burbage
wet the shards with the lips,
and he that carved
the face that launched a thousand ships.