Robin in Hoylake

Published Poetry  

Published in Agenda Vol 44, 1


A glass in the fridge nestles
among old cheeses
and crumpled lettuce
waiting to remind you
of your tablets,
two with every meal.

A single shoe
carefully positioned
on the sideboard,
next to the telephone
whose signal you often missed
winking its need to talk.

A pen balanced on the arm
of what was always your chair,
points with determined precision
at the folded newspaper,
reminding no-one now,
of the unfinished crossword.




Where does the feeling come from
on a day like this, when a grey curtain
enfolds the bay, and unseen,
the lighthouse bewails its blindness,
warning away leviathans,
who inch forward upon the sea?

Where does the wind come from
that sweeps gently about the pale
stone church, tugging at my coat,
as if to tempt me away from work,
to a hidden meeting on the beach,
beneath the rising water?

In the lee of the church tower,
beside the newly repainted statue
of the grieving Madonna and crucifix,
I turn my back on the granite wall
to look into a cataract-eyed day,
and listen for the call of the lighthouse.



©2012 Robin Laffan