Colin James, poem

Having Never Been Near Ebbets Field

I once heard Basil Bunting
read his poetry in London
midway through the 1970's.
I was with a young lady
whom I can't describe
with any accuracy
without offending someone.
Bunting had disguised himself.
He wore a Syrian Shawl.
An assistant held a large umbrella 
despite the buildings dry parameters.
My date was not amused.
Fecund, facund, I wish I had
married her indifference.