Blue eyes, red red nose, and bright
ginger hair: on the pavement opposite goes
one of our Breugel world
without much to be glad of, I fear.
He decides on this bitter March morning not
to wait for a bus up the street,
so as well I observe how he minces on most
peculiar points of long feet.
Also I see he has knuckles
outsticking as red as his nose,
so I imagine him in the year I400
cold in greased ill-fitting hose:
The old word for him was a scullion,
cutting the castle meats,
a kitchen hand ashore from a liner,
cockatoo whatever he eats.
Our Breugel race has its jokes,
I can only say it’s unfair
to combine such blue, red and white and sharp
feet, and such very bright ginger hair.
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