My grandad would bunk off school

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My grandad would bunk off school and go swimming. When he went home, his mother would taste the salt in his hair and box his ears. He would bend over me as we looked toward the mainland and taste my hair. “You’ve been swimming!” And I would try to dodge the gentle cuffs.

I would try to hold one of his hands in both of mine and study the tattoo on his forearm and the scar he said was caused by a bullet. Then on the way home he would tell me one of the stories I must have known were impossible but believed with all my heart. And still do.

Talking about David (2)

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I can’t say no to beauty. That’s why you brought me flowers, plate-sized sunflowers that sizzled, blood-red roses dripping dew…. Then one day – Leave them there on the floor. I can smell your betrayal through the crushed chrysanthemums. Walk away and leave me with the broken vase. I could name the pieces poetically but now the glass is only a function no longer needed. Be proud of what you have done.

Talking about David (1)

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Tim took a cigarette, put it in his mouth. he looked up and a tear rolled slowly down his cheek. He breathed out smoke and the words. He’s gone then. Really gone this time. Yes. Yes, he has. Tim pulled hard on the cigarette, spotlit by the streetlight. I looked at him, hurting from being unable to help. He walked away across the road, through the sudden traffic. Rock and roll man, I heard. Rock and roll.

Big sigh

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There, there, there you are, don’t cry, you’re mummy’s big boy.

(Big sigh)

Are you the biggest brother? No, I’m the middle one. My little brother’s the biggest. Big brother is the smallest of all three.

(Big sigh)

Only three people ever called me Si. A grandad, a brother, and another.

(Big Si)

Storytelling

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Guess what happened next! You’ll never guess!

Was it the elephant?

No!

Did Guacamole the cowboy come back?

No.

Ooh, ooh! The spaceship –

No! No, it was Mrs Bunn the baker! She –

I don’t remember her.

Mrs Bunn! Mrs Bunn the baker! She –

No, I don’t remember her. Tell me about the elephant. I like the elephant.

The past wins

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The past wins. It is always with us, a squatting, glistening frog, always with us. We cannot outrun it though it does not run. In a B-movie treatment of a nightmare chase, our feet try to move but take us nowhere, no farther from the frog. Every now and again the frog’s wide mouth gapes.

The future is a lizard, green, red belly, flicking away into the distance over sunhot rocks. Every now and again it looks back over its shoulder, dragon smoke curling impatiently around it. Our feet try to move but take us nowhere, no closer to the lizard.

The future is impatient but the frog is always with us. The past wins.

New Year

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New, new, new.
Dreams are new and memories.
Time flew through the year
and here is another.

A time for renewal
like no other before
but more days should be so.
Chances we need to make and share.

New, new and not so new.
Do. Or don’t do.
Now your world is quiet or should be.
Slow down how time flew.