A realisation as sudden as
Archimedes’ leaping from his bath,
the moment when – in the pleasure gardens
of Wisley, with its giant rhubarb leaves,
its gaping carp, its hissing swans, its wild
playground – going for a well earned modest slab
of chocolate cake and a babychino
enhanced with spoonsful of Grandma’s latte,
pointing, she called out, “That says ‘Coffee Shop’!
I can read!”