dougal inskip unrequited swain of fiona tattersby

Dougal Inskip


All these ordinary things are giving way

Times of late, like the dead wrapped in their winding sheets

Familiar in outline still

But disintegrating into melt and worm beneath

He feels infected with the guest’s unhappy mood

Uses the word, not having spoken with de Clieux

He thinks the time is now to broach disturbance

The time is near…the time grown urgent

He gazes at the sky to hold this in

“They’re loose,” he murmurs


Faithful Inskip won’t go home

His housekeeper is waving far below

A duster like a signal-flag, up and down

Her smock a sack of ticking in the door frame

“Bugger the woman,” he shockingly says





Copyright 2017 Stephanie Foster


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