LOLLOCKS

By sloth on sorrow fathered,

These dusty-featured Lollocks

Have their nativity in all disordered

Backs of cupboard drawers.

They play hide and seek

Among collars and novels

And empty medicine bottles,

And letters from abroad

That never will be answered.

Every sultry night

They plague little children,

Gurgling from the cistern,

Humming from the air,

Skewing up the bed-clothes,

Twitching the blind.

When the imbecile agèd

Are over-long in dying

And the nurse drowses,

Lollocks come skipping

Up the tattered stairs

And are nasty together

In the bed's shadow.

The signs of their presence

Are boils on the neck,

Dreams of vexation suddenly recalled

In the middle of the morning,

Languor after food.

Men cannot see them,

Men cannot hear them,

Do not believe in them--

But suffer the more

Both in neck and belly.

Women can see them--

O those naughty wives

Who sit by the fireside

Munching bread and honey,

Watching them in mischief

From corners of their eyes,

Slily allowing them to lick

Honey-sticky fingers.

Sovereign against Lollocks

Are hard broom and soft broom,

To well comb the hair,

To well brush the shoe,

And to pay every debt

As it falls due.

[From Work in Hand (1942)]