Mr Justice Wombat.

 
MR JUSTICE WOMBAT 
 
   One I crept on--to watch 
   how he might fetch the wind-- 
   falter under a post and rail-- 
   halt deaf, dumb, almost blind. 
 
   He is an old warty boot 
   thrown out in the rain, that the sun 
   glosses over and cracks. His knuckled 
   shape fumbles through the afternoon. 
 
   Grey as a judge's wig and hunched 
   at dusk when the crows beckon-- 
   and, while the crouching plovers shriek, 
   he fills himself with sweet lucerne. 
 
   I try to understand why 
   ...