As We Supposed

We stood about with mattocks and sharp sticks
until he went to pieces, gave up everything
(more than enough) down to the virgin
cut-out book and first blunt scissors.

Even that dusty pack of gypsophila seed
(‘sunny position preferred’), left face-down on
the scullery worktop for what seemed ages,
turned up at last and might still thrive.

We left him counting his thumbs, most-like
recalling, in the half-light of his hat-brim,
some well-imagined ecstatic moment
that nothing since had measured up to.