Category: Truth

The monthly meeting and a guest lecture
Patagonia clothing, beards and reputations
like Wimbledon everybody knows the seedings
higher ranking brings greater deference – and less talk.

A small unobtrusive man stands with the well-known president
tonight’s speaker he seems a dim light
amongst the halogen lamps of the audience.
He is introduced and begins.
A reflective nostalgic talk quiet and well mannered
each image on the screen produces soft memory
and generous comment about those framed within
a gentle production suitable for mature viewing and family audiences.

At the conclusion hard edged questions which are not
but mountaineering’s thrusting frontier of self acclamation.
Slight awe and praise beam from the speaker.
he looks exactly what he is, a kindly
middle aged medical practitioner from the provinces.

A generation distanced from the fearless ambition
that saw him and two deceased companions push
climbing standards out two decades in three years
he feels no need to show off.

With a smile which had melted many women
he told me what he did.
“I’m a thief ”
I laughed at the joke – it wasn’t.

He had been in and around our circle a few months
summer turned to autumn
ephemera of transience – post-exams : pre career
picking fruit, pruning trees, thinning buds.

Intermittent work
was it possible to make a living?
Some did
but not him
which led to the question.

He wasn’t a specialist, a general freelance
fashion was to blame…. something became desirable
everybody wanted it, some could pay, others not
that was where he came in – the middleman.

Insurance was a sideline : commissions and sales
scheduled burglary to remove specific items.
A deal works for both parties
for the victim a replacement
for the contractor, merchandise without inconvience.
“No”. Nobody would talk.
It was MAD : mutual assured destruction
sometimes appliances … sometimes vehicles
occasionally valuables – returned after pay out – and for a cut
he made no judgement – just provided a service.

Infinitely patient he answers all enquiries
this was a good place to operate
lots of migrants during harvest season : outsiders = blame.
He’d lived here a while now, been a sleeper the first few years
the trick was to work
and not seen to be living above station.

To my social world he brought an artist’s grace
charm
pretty women and more wine than he drank.
A skilful conductor dulled misgiving’s notes
covered a soloist weakness with orchestra power
coaxed silent conscience into applause and ovation.

Morality refracts through time’s prism
illuminating callow impressionability
revealing admiration as artifice
and reluctance to denounce popularity.

Several years later
another town and another lifetime I am working in hospitality
managing accommodation
I see him
and turn away before he sees me.

She had been a ballerina
movement was confirmation
poised
exact
graceful.

But here? Doing this?
A growth spurt
too much height
not enough thinness.

Disappointment attempts laughter
it doesn’t work.
A pause, savage and kind
professional regret
I have my own.

This she knows
without being told.
Different and similar
we form a friendship
of sorts.