Oh, don't be like that

In February, before the regattas and the swans,
before the punts rocking like pendulums
Si?n and I walked past the Tarry Stone, near the Thames,
following the tracks of Cookham's old pram,
and ate on the hotel lawn.

When we'd cleared the plates
she leant over my lap, my sagging magnolia tree,
little flushed white cross, saying about
something she'd read in Men's Health
'Coffee cures alcohol-induced depression,
then tossing off gets you to sleep&;#8230;'
I nuzzled her hair and told her it was hei hua kui,
the champion of black flowers,
then I put my jacket back on and took her to see
the paintings in what used to be the chapel.

The two I wanted to show her
were only available as postcards -
Spencer's self portrait, 1914
Spencer's self portrait, 1936
I explained the stand off:
"The younger man is looking at the older man glumly, with his head
lifted high in reverence - he is waiting for a sign that the front line
is ready to receive his full heart and relinquish the weapon, the
word.
"The older man is looking at the younger in fear and disgust, wondering
what he wants - wondering why he won't step back and wait for the older
man to clear the debris, label the right artifacts."

Later, we warmed ourselves in the car