Machines

Alan Dixon

Know them by their machines,
Machines of visiting friends,
As they want to be known.
Not beautiful, I think,
But elegant, I suppose,
She speaks if what I wear
Respects her neighbourhood.

My wellingtons and spade
Make me invisible;
Having no shiny shell
I take to camouflage.
Sometimes card-backs displayed
Like polished teeth show me
How popular they must be.

Outside her house I see
A slouchy yellow Dodge,
Licked, poisonous, chemical,
Or one of those high jeeps
With which they give away
Samurai swords, Koi sharks,
Live puppies of bronze dogs.