Category: Truth

The phone call shocking
but not unexpected.
For the past week
fragments of alarm had cut through the static.
In truth she was like talk back radio
not correctly tuned to a station
a constant irritating buzz of shallow populism.

Hard-working and vicious
aggressively seeking out misfortune
hand delivering packages of ridicule
to the most reliable of distributors.
Workplace mistakes offered delicious satisfaction
in a fast and busy environment
the potential almost unlimited
deceiving new employees into foolishness her favourite – an art form.

Monday morning the telephone’s stridency
cuts through the locked door
a jumble of keys, briefcase and hand piece
a distraught daughter, asking for confidence and an appointment.
A suicide attempt and late night resuscitation
currently in intensive care
awaiting transfer to a mental health unit
a request not to inform the workplace.

Three months pass
resignation ceases to be a state of mind
and becomes a reality
her return coincides with the changeover.
People have been suspicious about the absence
but information has remained the property of one.
I am three days from history when she returns
on the second
she tells my replacement I was hopeless.

I’d known him almost a decade
intuition was aware of missing years
vague comments of education in perpetuity
a range of disciplines. No degree. Or time abroad.
Everybody was almost experienced travellers then
youth liked to namedrop exotic locations
one serial offender nicknamed ‘Winnie’
pejorative for “when I was in …….”

Africa, Asia, Europe, constant exposure, perceived immunity
until the unexpected – “when I was in the seminary.”
Priesthood studied nearly complete : vows looming
matter of fact disclosure understates lifting of suppression.
Nearly seven years –  a lifetime from 18 to 25
almost, but not quite. No broad doubts about vocation
rather a specific truth of self.

Training encompassed regular interviews with the rector
monthly, one to one
theology, spirituality, the harvest is great, the labourers few
the burden of being a chosen one.
In the final year a new rector
a short meeting and long thought.
Reports from teachers and parishes were excellent
progress could not be faulted ….. but the rector “had just one question.”

The momentous is often presaged by immediate knowing
screeching brakes, late-night phone, a never before tone.
It was the pause the almost reverend remembered
the pause preceding the compassionate authority of question
“Anthony, are you happy?”

Not to be answered now. To be thought about.
One month later. The same room. Was the last meeting recalled?
And the question?
Did he have an answer? Yes. The answer was no.
The rector said, “I think you know what to do.” He left that afternoon.

Just as political scandal is suffixed by “gate ”
music festivals have a terminal “stock.”
There was something almost inevitable about the name
Antarctica – Icestock of course.

It is the absurd vanity of an artist.
every writer knows the world is waiting
practising contentment until….
and every band is certain they are the next Rolling Stones.

Icestock. One day of continuous music.
Straining guitars. Cheap amps. Flat voices.
The bad. The dreadful.  The okay… just
still, everybody has a day job.

A country band, quite possibly the worst ever
the slim dark vocalist attractive and lively
telling stories between songs
making bearable the unbearable
funny, especially the one about the dog.

“Two fellas watch a dog licking its balls
one says to the other
I sure wish I could do that
the second replies
give him a biscuit and he’d probably let ya.”