Out of Doors

After the description of a hermit crab in Alexander Dumas’ Grand Dictionary of Cuisine

“Above the waist he is a knight – cuirass, gauntlet, visor – this upper half of him has everything. Below the waist there’s nothing. Not even the tail of a shirt.”

Head of a lobster & tail of a slug; he plugs himself in a convenient shell. His preoccupation is secrecy. Catch the hermit out of doors & his shame is lethal.

I think of that as I watch a fat priest slip lithely into a waiting car: that sliding movement is out of place on his bulk, the grace of a geisha kneeling to the tea.

Or the local politician in Daunt’s Square shaking hands with a deft shrug. His face is closed & smiling. His hand is strong & he offers it like viaticum.

The tall blond girl on Wellington Road resting her hand on a boy’s sleeve, I see that her life is open-air, her face is a sea of gifts an engagement without armour.