A very extraordinary lady compleats this malicious group. She does not appear to have any Christian name, but by the gang is termed the Glove Woman, as she constantly wears cotton-mittens. Sir Archy dryly insinuates that she keeps her arms thus covered because she has got the itch. She is about 48 years of age, is above the middle height, and has a sharp face. On her chin and upper lip there is a considerable quantity of fine downy hair, and she is somewhat pockfretten. Always dressed in a common fawn-coloured Norwich gown, with a plain cream-coloured camblet shawl, and wears a chip hat covered with black silk. The glove woman is remarkable for her skill in managing the machine. She frequently goes abroad. The rest of the gang, but particularly Sir Archy, are constantly bantering and plucking at her, like a number of rooks at a strange jack-daw: she has never been known to speak.

ah the root besplitten and aburst with seamy life
befrayed and teeming with bespicious thoughts

behold the offset
hollering and ready to feed

but beware this resurrection is
a trap of the highest order

STAY AWAY

where you are
gravity blankets you body and mind

here
you will float to hedge height

and there your horrors will start
I beseech you
close your curling curtains –

but oh the innocence!
of the vision summoned by omission

a sweet untroubled freedom
wafting under the nose

(the two sides of a dog
tender and devouring
are inseparable in the throat)