Philip Larkin
Toads
Revisited
Walking
around in the park
Should
feel better than work:
The
lake, the sunshine,
The
grass to lie on,
Blurred
playground noises
Beyond
black-stockinged nurses -
Not
a bad place to be.
Yet
it doesn't suit me.
Being
one of the men
You
meet of an afternoon:
Palsied
old step-takers,
Hare-eyed
clerks with the jitters,
Waxed-fleshed
out-patients
Still
vague from accidents,
And
characters in long coats
Deep
in the litter-baskets -
All
dodging the toad work
By
being stupid or weak.
Think
of being them!
Hearing
the hours chime,
Watching
the bread delivered,
The
sun by clouds covered,
The
children going home;
Think
of being them,
Turning
over their failures
By
some bed of lobelias,
Nowhere
to go but indoors,
or
friends but empty chairs -
No,
give me my in-tray,
My
loaf-haired secretary,
My
shall-I-keep-the-call-in-Sir:
What
else can I answer,
When
the lights come on at four
At
the end of another year?
Give
me your arm, old toad;
Help
me down Cemetery Road.
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