Effects unknown

 

Papillion. That's a much better name than butterfly.

Naturally

The young man and the sea

Archie Meades

Meg ran away often.
As a collie, she was expected to herd 

but the only
gathering she did was
when her vanishing acts
led me to the water's edge
to see her splash and strut
in the shallow parts of the bay.

She sensed my limits:
my school shoes
and the evening schedule.
And I knew two things: Meg hated
the feel of water on her head, and the ferry

and its wake would come every two hours.

I waited hours in the hope
she would yield to my murmured, merman pleas. 

Balls and replacement stones went fetched, 

unreturned and forgotten. 

Calls to heel were screened. 

Would she have done the same 

with sheep? She loved this 

immersive theatre.

It always ended with one of us 

wetter than we wanted,
a frequently repeated washing cycle.
We never had a chance 

to speak about it

on account of her being a dog.

Early print

Even used my hands.

Future tense

Vinyl whispers erode my froth as I sit with coffee in someone's wedding china. Me in shorts, my feet in brogues.

My pencilled K. Amis
brings me to
brandy-starers
with family crests,
leather headrests in

clubs with fees and

rich mahogany.

I and them, we
are soft-boiled men
in wooden rooms,
backwards facing
like train options or
babies after milk.

Progress, like cutlery,
can be found
in the kitchen.

Knockers (Part 3)

These stern beauts came from a house with multiple lion fixings.

 

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