Sprawl

On the prom at Bray, a quick blip-recce before visiting my cos Fiachra, who has moved there from his rather gloomy bedsit off Mountjoy Square. The man laid back on the grass reminds me of a great poem by the Aussie Les Murray, called The Quality of Sprawl. Here's a quote:

Sprawl leans on things. It is loose limbed in its mind.
Reprimanded and dismissed
it listens with a grin and one boot up on the rail
of possibility.

Not that the man would care what Aussie poets think about anything (though who know?). Anyway, let the man on the grass be a stand-in, or a lie-down, for an Irish summer, which always reminds me of that poem.