Cataract Operation

The sun comes like a head
through last night's turtleneck.
A pigeon in the yard turns tail
and offers me a card. Any card.


From pillar to post, a pantomime
of damp, forgotten washing


on the washing line.
So, in the breeze:

the olé of a crimson towel.
the cancan of a ra ra skirt,

the monkey business of a shirt
pegged only by its sleeve,

the cheerio
of a handkerchief.

I drop the blind
but not before a company

of half a dozen hens
struts through the gate,

looks round the courtyard
for a contact lens.

by Simon Armitage

Comments (1)

This simply wonderful. The imagery and evocation of the momentary mental maziness that possess us as we detach from the logical day and really open our eyes.