The Lie

You claimed I’d come back in the fishing boat
alone, greased with the old man’s blood
him slit open, tossed overboard, gnawed

by seals. No, I said.  He was out there.
Your tale travelled. Now the town 
kept its distance. Kids pitched stones.

You honed your grudge, blew it up 
with a rumour, stirred the waters 
of chaos. I took the form you made.

A bad spell. In the bath I scrubbed
and scrubbed. Nights I tramped the beach
shouting for the old man. He was out there.

Steadily waves broke on the bare shore.
My life was a foreign body, a lie. 
Soon I’d find words to expose it.

@ianjmclachlan