Touched on the Raw (George’s Bay, St Helens)   “That’s a flash hat mate, a bit Too poncy for my taste,” he sneered At my Czech felt, broad-brimmed high-crowned   Kobulka with a speckled tuft Of feather sewn into the band For extra élan, as I strolled   One weekend round the bay on what Here passes for a promenade. The rush of blood as colour would   Have gone well with my brown headpiece As I slew “Oz”, unworthy of “Oswald”, with a chilling riposte,   In thought at least, as on I went, Too slow and cowardly then…