of goods. Her slim legs running up the staircase. Destiny. Ripening now. Vain: very.
He smiled with troubled affection at the kitchen window.
Day I caught her in the street pinching her cheeks to make them red. Anemic a little. Was given milk too long. On the Erin’s King that day round the Kish. Damned old tub pitching about. Not a bit funky. Her pale blue scarf loose in the wind with her hair.
All dimpled cheeks and curls, Your head it simply swirls.
Seaside girls. Torn envelope. Hands stuck in his trousers’ pockets, jarvey off for the day, singing. * Friend of the family. * Swurls, he says.