The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

31

Today smashes down, sunlight flickering through the trees. And the ducks and geese fly by. Reach out and run my hand over the green little hills of Hyde Park. Sit with breakfast and stare. A pot of fragrant steaming coffee on the linen table cloth. Warm brown toast and honey. Instead of kippers and whisky which got Beefy's granny so far.

Balthazar B went down in the lift. This morning dressed with a little something for everybody. A pink silk shirt, a Trinity tie and black Manx tweed. People going to the dining room for breakfast. With their newspapers tucked under arms and wives ushered ahead. I stand packed to go. Feel no sadness. To know my mother's dead. Or that I'll climb the winding hill over the cobble stones to the ovens atop Pere Lachaise.

In this hotel lobby, pull on my black capeskin gloves. Slide a hand into the crimson silk. Tighten my fist on the grip of my bag. Go slowly down these steps. Out through the doors.

To the autumn air. Free and clear. Last night as I fell asleep, all the lamps along Rotten Row went off one by one in my head. Woke with a coo of pigeon and backfire of a car. And wondered will one ever walk abroad again on the brimming countryside laughing in the green. Where the seeds fly from thistles standing sharp leafed strangers in the fields.

There will be the little line of people waiting to board the steamer. The harbour may be heaped with waves. Mail loading from derricks swinging a great net. I'll be watching as I always do. The clank of chain and cables dripping water. A capstan grinding as it tugs the bow out towards sea. With the last shouts and bustle.

Stand here on Knightsbridge pavement in the public domain. Where so much of one's life began. To wait for a taxi to take me just a little further away. Aboard the train. Out of London and England. Across the grey Channel. To bury a mother. And chase others gone goodbye in my years. Calling after their names. Come back again. Where that countryside sings over your grasses matted by wind and rains fall in sunshine. Don't fear when some nights rise up wild. Go walk in heather along a narrow path. Seagulls glide and curlews cry. Reach up and gather all this world. Before dark or any other people should ever come. And find you sheltering. As all hearts are. Worried lonely. Your eyes quiet. By the waters cold. Where the sadness lurks so deep.

It doth

Make you

Still.