Adieu, said the upturned glass in 1966. Adieu.
Was it you? No not me. He said he knew who.
The electric socket suddenly sparked and blew.
Adieu! Adieu! Adieu! Adieu! Adieu! Adieu!
The last time I saw Arthur was a handful of days ago,
Or was it, all considered, a handful of decades or so,
When first I occasioned upon him in another studio
At Kilburn where he learned darkroom processing.
He came to Islington part-time, while confessing
The early mornings he delivered pints of milk
Before printing off pictures of females in silk
And gents in top hats and all that. I'm guessing
The Arthur who worked at my studio back then
Is not the one before me now. Today he is a ghost
Who looks distantly with eyes vacant at his host
As I await for the Arthur of old to spark again.
Occasionally it does, and laughter breaks anew;
And then, Adieu! Adieu! Adieu! Adieu! Adieu!