Dream Elephants

There have been cities
To live in
Where you go
To find the elephants of your life
In parks
And dark back alleys.

And I have thought
While hunting
How mad it would be
To be caught between the crazy elephant
And the shallow grey sea.

Yes, they are large
And barely visible
Except out of the side of an eye
Or when you are between sleeps
And they strangle and crush you.

© BH 1970

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It was a long time ago, I know, but Henri read this. How else could I ask for his autograph? A slip of paper shoved under his nose would have been crass and hardly hip. Besides after you've shared several pints in the back room of Ma Cameron's, it would be nothing short of weird.

So we weaved our way through the afternoon haze toward my digs. Adrian ogled the girls from Albyn School for Girls, as a matter of course. In my half-attic room just below its huge cupola in Gilcomston Place, I shyly gave him the poem, scribbled on a scrap of notebook paper.

I think he sensed the autograph scenario. He nodded but passed no comment. He wrote on it: 'A very nice poem,' and signed it 'A Elephant'.

I put the manuscript in a very safe place so I could treasure it always. Then I grew up or the poem got lost. I'll never know which.