Caught in the center of a soundless field
While hot inexplicable hours go by
What trap is this? Where were its teeth concealed?
You seem to ask.
I make a sharp reply,
Then clean my stick. I’m glad I can’t explain
Just in what jaws you were to suppurate:
You may have thought things would come right again
If you could only keep quite still and wait.
(Philip Larkin)
More Poetry from Philip Larkin:
- Vers De Soci (Philip Larkin Poems)
- Tr (Philip Larkin Poems)
- Night Music (Philip Larkin Poems)
- When First We Faced (Philip Larkin Poems)
- As Bad as a Mile (Philip Larkin Poems)
- Library Ode (Philip Larkin Poems)