News of the World

13 Jul

Time had beached him like a stranded whale

on the bleak shores of a big brass bed. The past

sang to him: the sea in a shell. I

was his lookout at the window of the upstairs

room. He’d cup his hand round his ear

when I’d call out to him how many cows

Stinson was grazing on the long acre now.

I’d listen to news of a world he knew

long before I knew there was a world to know.

 

And so it would go on, with him left

high and dry and out of his element by the tide

and me all eyes for the eyes that always

seemed to be looking beyond me

at things I’d never be able to see.

 

Francis Harvey

 

P.S. I didn’t have anything to add to the news of the BSkyB bid apart from a *fist pump* and *high five*! So I gave you this aptly named poem instead, from the new anthology Being Human (all of Neil Astley’s anthologies are just… I can’t describe them… read them). 

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