Gainsborough’s Market

I catch a glimpse of
Gainsborough’s knee.
Brush and palette
above it stand
floating.

Protruding.

A man at war,
with gun to kill –
half-cocked –
not ready.

He hesitates a while –
allows other men
to do the job
in hand.

He watches, thinks, but
feels unable to run.
Feet frozen,
tailcoat stuck.

Committed.
Obedient.
Recording the
years passing.

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, September 2018

Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

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