A Houyhnhnm's Scrapbook/Number 1/Occasion

Configurations as the thing unrolled
Took postures grinning. One by one they closed
The doors with well-oiled click. The Master told
Of work in progress, while some bulbous-nosed
Chanter intoned Amen. An unemphatic
Bondman in braidrope took my plate away.
I lost the thread of discourse, saw hepatic
Dots on the wall, wondered if I should stay.

Then salve’s rolled through cobwebs, and the jelly
In front of me quaked on, not quite mechanical.
I felt a tug of downness in my belly.
The talk kept turning to some recent manacle
Shaped cold in cleverness. My left-hand’s hide
Had bumps, I noticed. Could the chap have died?