Will Vigar

a writer of sorts

Two of the reasons I’m doing a PhD

two-md

A Confessional Prose Poem of sorts.

i)

Martin came  by to babysit.        I was three and had heard

         Good Vibrations by the Beach Boys     on the radio that morning

 

  for the very first time.     I asked my Mum what the wheeoo noise

         was. She said      she didn’t know and thought i didn’t like it.

 

    So she switched the radio off            and got a tantrum in return.

    I told Martin about the song  and demonstrated the noise

that had thrilled me.

 

I’m sure I thought I was being sophisticated but maybe

the flannelette pyjamas and arms flapping as I wheeooed

 

around my bedroom               told a different story. Martin pulled

               the books from his bag and tried to read          for an essay.

 

      I didn’t know what that was         or where it lived or why

it wanted to be read to ,

 

With patience and a smile I still remember, it being the only

         part of his face that could be         seen through his Michael Bentine

                              hippy do,

 

Martin explained school work and my three year old self

declared that when I grew up I wanted to write ee-says

 

for a living, the mispronunciation making him chortle,     

         lank hair

                        quivering,

                                      threatening to part and reveal

          his unseen eyes.

 

ii)

Jane would always tut and sigh

                         at  my academic failure

         astonished that I was, she said,

                          ‘the most intelligent man I’ve met’

             and frustrated that I should be

                  so much more                  than the fuck-up waster            I’d become.

 

   So pained by my self-destructive indifference

                                          she cut off all relations.

 

                        We spoke

                                sometimes

                                                 through email

                         after ten or so years had elapsed

                                                     and she was thrilled that

                                    I had studied and succeeded.

           I felt worthy enough to hold my head up;

                             To be her friend again.

 

The next time I saw her was at her funeral

                                             never having had the chance to say

                            thank you, face to face.

                                                All I could think of was             Jane dancing

                                                           to Ella Fitzgerald

                                                                         “A tisket a tasket

                                                                                   she’s laying in her casket”

                                     hammering in my head

                                                                 haunting me as an unwanted meme.

 

                                                         As Pie Jesu

                                                                        gave way

                                                                                 to Love Shack

                                                                                         no one        danced

                                                                                                      and I couldn’t     help but feel

                                                         I had disappointed her

again.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: