Carlos

Carlos

mum and dad took us strolling

each weekend on the Cleveland Way

to Boggle Hole from Robin Hood’s Bay

with unwilling me, and sister, Cleo,

creeping behind, hawking into bushes,

smirking at the phlegm dripping

and whining our rucksacks hurt our backs

 

we wrenched twigs

from cherry tree branches,

tossed them into the beck -

loved watching them racing

under the bridge and out to sea,

mum and dad hated that

 

petals on wet black boughs

 

those Scarborough holidays,

endless boring ‘Scrabble’ mornings

in our beach hut when it rained

or for a treat, a seal-spotting trip

all at sea on the Queensbury

 

Peasholm Park afternoon

canoe fights on the lake,

no holds barred -

Cleo, The African Queen,

me the Bismarck... sunk... again

 

parkie chased me, hollering,

I gave him the slip, half drowned,

hiding behind bushes

in the Chinese Gardens

 

bone-dry, Cleo laughed at me,

until I caught her,

pushed her into the water,

and held her under -

cold wet vengeance,

con brio

 

white-water rafting in Wharfedale

Cleo leading– she always led,

whooping loudly, “Ride ‘em cowboy!”

she broke her neck against a boulder

helicopter came too late to save her

 

my parents followed not long after,

capsizing their kayak in Runswick Bay,

their bodies lost at sea -

last seen heading Whitby way

 

sole beneficiary? me

it’s an ill wind…

 

I made my fortune- buy to rent,

paid cash for a villa on Ithaca,

the wine is cheap, fish are jumping,

and the living is easy

 

the Aegean teems these days

with face-down floaters

in repro Man United shirts

 

‘that dinghy’s sinking, such a pity’

 

I'm thinking of moving back to Blighty

I’m sick of being haunted

by stick-limbed apparitions

in flowery dresses, clutching dollies,

bobbing belly-up in the sea...

 

petals on a wet black bough.

 

 

n.b. this morning I saw heart rending photos of migrant children tear gassed on Lesbos - and was appalled at the heartless comments of some readers - I was reminded of this unpleasant poem - one I've never performed due to the callous nature of Carlos.  My initial thought when I first wrote it (years back) was to compare and contrast pleasant boating afternoons on the Serpentine say with the dire conditions fellow human beings face on the high seas. 

When the sea is safer than the land then we are all in trouble.  Rick.