Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry

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.”

Before inclusion and enlightened thinking
she would have been called a hunchback.
Friendly with pixie appeal and fine features
the more one looked at her, the prettier she became.

Six degrees of separation has to answer
for what everybody does
donate the address and goodwill of a friend
living in the destination of another.
It is hardly ever followed up
or works.
She did. And it did.
Late afternoon …. became dinner
talkative
vivacious, I was only becoming acquainted with that term
she filled the meal with tales of exotic travel.

We shared desert of stick chocolate
instant coffee
and the washing up.
I am new to my new life I explain
alone
and not used to entertaining.
She said she didn’t mind
we continue to talk, laughter is added.
Summer nights are long. Dark arrives by stealth
a candle increases the dimness.

Then …… she stood

“Some things are for talking about
others for doing”
clothes abandoned her.
From the floor a low tone, high in confidence
“here, I am the same as other woman, it won’t be any different.
Hesitation cues sensual feminine laughter
“I’m thirty three,” she tells the half light, “you’re not the first.”