The Departure of the Myths

Here is another poem by Dick Davis – and why not? He's one of the best (and still living). This one is a rare excursion into something very like free verse, and I think it works beautifully. The Departure of the MythsNow that the series ofTottering bedizenedEdifices goes topplingAnd tinkling intoThe distance, surroundedBy singers and saltimbanques,By outriders who curvetTheir horses and flourishBright, fabulous weapons –We cannot deny that The silence is (asThey grinningly warned usIt would be) unnerving. But almost immediatelyIt's broken; a childIs wailing somewhere – And look, there it isGrubby and rubbing its eyes,About five years old,Of indeterminate Sex, left behind byThe glamorous, vanishingSelf-absorbed caravan thatNow, as we watch, grows smallIn the sunset. SuddenlyWe see how ridiculouslyHeedlessly cruelThat gross splendour had become –How could it have touched us?We hate it and rushTo console the distraughtChild who stubbornlyEvades our caresses andBawls for its mother.…