How & Suffolk
[ poetry - january 09 ]
How could grandpa remember the way
from our house to that cottage in Devon?
How could the Two Ronnies squeeze
down the wires of our television every Saturday?
How could an aeroplane fly,
a ship float?
How could a baby get out?
How could my father be a Catholic and go to sleep
at another woman's house?
How will my skin keep stretching?
How could my rabbit go to heaven when it was still
in the shoe box that I dug up next day?
How could aunty Julie have known
who stuck her fingers in the birthday blancmange?
How could Gary dance with Debbie and not me?
How could you have sex standing up?
But I never asked what I really wanted to know:
how would it feel to step off the turret of Dover Castle?
This morning's walk,
the first of the week:
I see a hare, a woman
with two boxes of eggs,
a yellow finch, a woman
jogging, and two cars.
I wanted to walk forever,
away from the day
but was drawn back,
than I could have known.
This was no walking backwards
no walk I'd ever done,
the cars, the woman,
the finch, the eggs,
the woman, the hare,
all could be there tomorrow,
yesterday, the day you were born.