Borne on the tides, tossed,
we land on foreign rocks,
cling, limpets powered by the fear
that we might slip and slide
when the next heavy wave breaks.
Across a chasm
there’s another land, clad in green,
where we might settle,
but the border’s dark and deep.
There's no guarantee
that if we relaxed our grip,
put faith in the sea,
the waves would take us there.
But we can’t stay here forever:
we must calculate and take the
risk.
Some of us might make it.
Today I am my father,
How this
happened
is a secret, but I did it.
So here I am
in hospital.
I have
myeloma.
My wife, who
has been crazy on and off
for decades,
is at home, but Maisie has come
with flowers
and reassuring chat.
I’ve taught Maths
for years, increasingly Applied –
Mechanics it
was called – because theory, like my faith,
had dried
out – seaweed on the shore
that left me
wondering as the tide ebbed
what if
anything it meant.
Maisie is a
comfort.
I like her
cheer and warmth.
So much
chill about insanity at home
and
contagious. I often feel
I, too, am
going mad.
…………………………………
This
incarnation is too distressing.
I can only take
it in bits.
I think I’ll
quit.
