Reading:
Dark deeds in bright sunshine One sign of old age I find strange Is this lack of energy For working in the evening. By then I’m far too tired for painting Or for writing poetry. A glass of wine at six (though not before) And relaxing in my chair, all I’m good for Then is watching some detective on TV. Italian noirs on catch-up usually. Plots have little interest And characters are trite But I like to get some spoken conversation In my ear. So now we’re are cognoscenti Of Sicilian Mafiosi as Inspector Montalbano Solves a murder every night. It’s not The Brothers Karamazov To be sure. But the landscape is alluring, Seaside settings picturesque, And dark deeds in bright sunshine make a change. With each successive series he gets older, Absurdly young seducers ever bolder, But to know he’s on the trail is reassuring. So sitting down to see how easily He solves his weekly crime Beats grafting at my desk Any time.
Peter Lloyd Jones 