The Orchestra

I can see him
holding a mirror
moving it across behind
looking at the one in front
to view the back.
Then brushing the collar,
opening the smock
and folding it
to hold the hair,
passing on the brush,
then standing nonchalantly
to accept the tip
and holding open the overcoat.

The one beside him
I see in wellingtons
with stick, leaning over
a five barred gate
looking into a shed
of freshly bedded cattle
watching for signs of sickness,
estimating, after a summer on grass, their value
at the back end of the year.

And she to his left, definitely
a charge-hand in haberdashery.

Three violinists
concentrate upon their scores
and on the one
who looks, for all the world,
as though he could do nothing other
than conduct an orchestra.

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