I still have the blue beret that JFK
was wearing the day he was assassinated.
If you take the nipple between finger and thumb,
hold it up to the light and twirl it round
you can see the bullet holes (or, to be precise,
the two holes made by a single bullet).
For many years I kept in store, the fox-fur stole
that Virginia Woolf wore in March 1941
when she walked into the River Ouse at Rodmell.
But those sharp, little eyes had seen too much.
They disturbed me so I disposed of it.
This leather jacket, however, I would not sell
for a million pounds. Her Royal Highness
was wearing it on that dreadful night in Paris
when her Harley-Davidson skidded on black ice.
This may interest you. John Berryman’s silver
fob watch, still showing 9.24. The exact time
he hit the frozen river. Minneapolis, 1972.