Robert Verdon, #81, Boys Grammar

the hallowed
chalk dust of the church school
my mother cleaning
my mother cleaning

by night temporary
barrack-like
classrooms
unswept since the War

I, running, nine years old,
in enemy territory,
kidnapped by the
dark dizzying Quad,

that carved-top Quad like
an army parade ground
sandwiched between
hard, gargoyled halls

my mother cleaning
that mock-English abyss

(wherein God was never present,

nor even Berkeley the Irishman),¹

cleaning, cleaning

away the past;

cleaning
away the future.

1Cf the philosophical commentary on Bishop Berkeley found in the two limericks of Monsignor Ronald Knox.