When Gladys put her handbag down
smack in the middle of standing stones
the dancing started. One by one
she touched the boulders, moved like a moon
from granite to sarsen, pacing out praise
for these prominent erections of man,
gliding past the North Pole of her bag
which smelt of lipstick and lavender.
Her pearls became bright satellites of her,
as she moved in ellipses, calling the gods
of darkness and chaos with parabolas
of wonder. No one can say we’ve gone to the dogs
while modern aunties are still in tune
with ancient eclipses, can stand alone
completing whole families of motionless stone.