Poetry

John Whitworth: Two Poems

The Bad Banker’s Confessions to Good Granny Birdseed   From my eyrie in the City I spy schoolgirls playing games And I lust through every lunchtime as they gambol. The biplane of my enemy is going down in flames; I rejoice without concealment or preamble. My solicitors advise me to refuse outstanding claims. I am busy annotating all the works of Henry James. They have stolen all my Rembrandts; I have nothing but the frames. It’s a mystery no headwork can unscramble.   Every Sunday in Saint Paul’s there sings a choirboy so sublime He would tempt a very saint…

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