Come over, William, you should take a gander
at my curtains. Check out their thinning
slightly off the centre; the way they fail
to join up in the middle; their boring grey-green
pattern even duller since they’ve hung there
nigh on twenty years. I know your magic
with the fabric. I’ve seen your curling leaves,
unfurling flowers, your cheeky strawberry thief.
I’ve seen the prices they command. So much
for socialism: I’ve been priced out. But
I can do appreciation. So, comrade – if I may –
could you pop over, sample my sloe gin, bring
some news from nowhere? I’m thinking you can help,
because I want to make this room a place
of wonder. Something a visitor might see
and be transported, but not envious. Stirring
like a banner, but more subtle. Earthier, more rooted.
I’m imagining borlotti beans. Let them inspire you.
Julian Dobson lives in Sheffield. His poems have appeared in publications including Magma, Under the Radar, and Acumen, and on a bus in Guernsey.