Wish-Bones Sing, muse, of the dentist on Indian Hill who fixed my teeth with no charge. Come in, she said, my lips leave nothing to be desired but keep an uneasy peace. Scrape the mould off your joints and sit down. Carthago delenda est. Now when I think of my short-of-breath pandaemonium I think of having a good rub down by the light of Italian stars. On they come to where they vanish longitudinally. Here where the owl hoots by the hammer ponds and the fox cries for something to operate on by moonlight. Let the cat out who can it is time to reach for the sky in pliable wash-leather gloves.Mengham, Rod is the author of 'Unsung', published 2000 under ISBN 9781876857127 and ISBN 1876857129.