So...come on. I’m waiting. Not got
too much time. Where’s the truth
behind the premise – life will flash
before my eyes?
The hell with this dying thing!
“Say, you up there! I’ve changed
It’s not supposed to be like this;
not quite like this.
I’m supposed to remember my first love,
my first kiss; the day we climbed
to the top of Ben Lomond and the world
Or that night we sat by the Indian Ocean –
the Hilton, no less, at Fujairah and heard
the cicadas sing and then fell asleep
Only now, I swim home. It is not
your hands I see come to rescue me;
it is that breathless space between them
into which I sink.
You were too late. Good as dead –
long before I hit the water.
There was a bridge – the skid of tyres;
the smell of burning rubber.
I remember arthritic, sycamore trees –
bending, beckoning; gnarled, grey fingers...
Sunshine – courting my skin; sunlight,
flicking...flickering....a red sports-car
with the top down...
“Hey! You! What the fuck
were you thinking – riding way too fast
round that hairpin bend?”