An
Unexpected Manoeuvre
I was on my way to meet a
friend for coffee at the castle, after a morning’s wrestling. Anticipating to meet
outside the entry gates, she never arrived and I realised I was sweating
profusely. This was, I assumed, because of my earlier activity rather than
disappointment at her absence. A tall young man was standing by the entrance
sign and looking at me with a grimace when he suddenly walked over to ask if I
was alright. I returned my own scowl and moved briskly away. Back at the gym
later that evening, I performed a wheelbarrow arm drag on one of my regular practice
partners, unaware I knew the move.
Ghost
Ship
I
tell her it was a ghost ship and she understands how those things we fear do disappear
in that dream-world of hoping. It had been on a dissonant October horizon of
the North Atlantic, and as weather relapsed and remitted, the vessel was
suddenly gone after the most recent transitions of wind and rain and sunshine.
Our vantage is at this fleeting home on Jurassic cliffs from which we have
watched the sea for days in its generative mysticism. I’d noted in various
rages how nothing else in our life had changed, so this external rebuke didn’t
surprise. And it wasn’t long after that I saw another boat, dulled in the
darkness surrounding it, heading straight for these soft heights.
Pals
He is
going to a 49ers vs Cowboys game while in San Francisco, but there is a
darkness too and I do know I am not alone. Once, still tripping on Calvados, we
spun around in that car like a fairground ride, things falling from our
pockets. There is a kind of journalism that relies on clever headlines and I
supplied these to him. At the Foire de Caen a woman thought I was Gary Oldman
so I didn’t dissuade, and not speaking French was like a confirmation. The
hotel room we shared in San Fran was sweeter than the one in Fairfield with its
former dead body. Over the years you come to rely on more than the memories, as
important as they are.
Not Drowning
There is
an oil spill in the bathroom but no fish or coral to worry about, just the not
knowing that kills. When I use the large baby-blue cloth to clean it up, my
multi-folding doesn’t make it any less porous. Singing slip slidin’ away
reminds of Simon’s other great songs. I have been here before with an ocean in
the kitchen and fearing I would drown. Yes, it is the not knowing that will
keep you submerged.
Teeth
They
didn’t rip your teeth out today and that was such a relief. We drove over the
bridge where yesterday a woman was laid out on the road and so much traffic was
diverted past our house. Appointments have been made for beyond the time we
will all meet up as a family: that working out too. I posted the picture of my father at Ghost
Town, California with his arms around two porcelain women, and no one asked
about it. When a life has been lived without so much, it becomes extraordinary
to retain even the most basic of things.
Mike Ferguson is an American permanently resident in the UK. His most recent poetry publication is the aran aphorisms (Red Ceilings Press, 2024).