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Storm sigh


 

His solicitor

tells him it is now absolut

 

he listens

 

his knuckles

tight and shiny

around the receiver

 

the rest of the words

mist and evaporate

 

until he realises he’s

gruffed a goodbye

 

and is standing

in a bruising darkness

 

as the storm approaches

 

The rain starts

 

large spots

cheetahing

 

the garden’s

concrete slabs

 

he listens

counts the seconds

 

                     his slowing heartbeats

 

until the eye

looks down

from above him

 

He undoes his shirt

takes off

his trousers and underpants

 

then steps out

into the deluge

 

The rain

warm and soft

 

caresses his limbs

 

and runs it’s delicate

fingers

down his torso

 

in a way

 

that stirs some

distant

once loving

 

memory

 

Head back

he feels the water

 

welling

in the corners of his eyes

Rory goes swimming

 

 
 

There is a purity to his movements

 

The instructor demonstrates

the correct arcing arm

 

he watches

then tries to copy

 

his nearly-nine year old body

a mirror

 

of the octogenarian swimmer

in the adjacent lane

 

who is slowly executing

a perfect front-crawl

 

I watch them both

 

seeing the opportunity

of where I’ve come from

 

and the confidence

of where I want to go

The next two poems have a similar theme - but a different outcome!

Between the bloom and the rot

 


He came back

and found her

 

  just like he always

  said he would

 

    and just like she

    never believed –

 

      passing off his promises

      as

 

        evidence

        of his hopeless romanticism

 

She stopped her dead-heading

and looked along the cul-de-sac

 

  and even though he wasn’t

  instantly recognisable

 

    as the him

    of 27 years ago -

 

      she knew

      who it was

 

        still as vaguely scruffy

        and shamblingly elegant

 

She had to fight back

an impulse

 

  to take off her gardening gloves

  put down the secateurs

 

    and run towards him

 

      kiss him

      in a way they used to kiss

 

        and ask

        if this time - he was staying

Phantom

 

The grandchildren are buying ice-cream

the sun is at my back

and I’m waiting on a bench

overlooking the town square

 

when I see her

 

She turns to talk to a man

who is taking a picture

of the statue

I sit in front of

 

The photographer doesn’t catch her words

and once he has lowered the camera

he cups a hand to his ear

so she repeats whatever it was

that she said

then he nods and points towards the castle

 

I feel safe at this distance

 

I’m close enough

to see that she has aged well

moves with a slower grace

 

and that the grey hair adds

to the air of sophistication

she always carried

 

She looks towards me

but sunglassed

broad-hatted

and seated

I know that I’m anonymous

 

Only a sixth or seventh sense

would give me away

and prompt a frowned acknowledgement

and maybe a wave

 

But this doesn’t happen

 

Then as he raises

the expensive looking camera

again pointing it in my direction

she turns her back

 

and walks away from me

 

So I remove my hat and glasses

and smile

 

thinking about how she will see

this ghost

grinning at her

 

ambushing her from a pile

of flicked through

holiday snaps