A BRIEF INTERRUPTED DREAM OF WILFRID PICKLES

It's Mabel at the table as always & let's have the first guess.

Hallo, Sir, and what's the name. Well that's a right fine Yorkshire name.

Oh.

Well, what do you do? You make gloves? Gloves out of camel skin! And
catkins?

Cat skin!

Do you have difficulty getting the skin? Only with the camels? I see. By the
way, I don't think our audience are too happy about that cat skin....

[cut]

Is there much demand for camels' kin gloves?

The sky's the limit? I see.

Tell me, Sir. You say the sky's the limit; but they say, some say, that
there'll soon be men on the moon. Do
you believe that?

You do. I'm glad of that because I do too.

And tell me, will you make moon gloves.

You will if there's an order? Well, that's grand.

WHAT THE GLOVE SAID

I am silken and wholesome.

Sometimes in the night I am seen shaking.

Jackals bay in the littered alleys but I pay them no mind.

I am concerned with the skin of nearness.

Between one tooth and another, the iron passivity.

I disgorge hands and sleep. I eat and wake.

Such prey as use me never tell their names.

I am fond of wordless proverbs.

Love is a roof of rain and a habitation.

Such tears I wipe would stun the bilious world.

My dance is with the air.

I hide and disclose like a poem.