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Invisible hand that jangles the lantern over the porch

and tells the leaves on the pond to imagine they are clippers

and wrenches the shed door , and makes leylandii lurch,

unnerving the cat, wobbling the elderly; that viciously clobbers

pedestrians at the corner, then snatches up bills and payslips

put out for recycling and juggles with them; that gibbers

and squeaks through gaps in your sealed units; that laughs as it swipes

her portfolio of art, the pantechnicon of his life’s work, in fits

when a cone skedaddles like a clown or turning Dalek wipes

the smile off its fierceness and swivels a death-ray that hits

your moped, your chimney, your safest nook, knocking over

five centuries’ peaceful growth. It is its own blitz-

krieg on the establishment. Respect it. Let it recover

equilibrium – be patient – let it blow itself out

and lie quietly, a champion featherweight, a winged lover.