Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.

Bullshit Detector


1983 and faux anarchic romanticism
seduces me. Squatting for peace
dreaming that the threat
of Threads is gone and Barefoot
Gen can sleep unhindered; ashen 
shadows confined to graffiti. 
The love of peace instigates 
war and the dreamers

look to an El Dorado in the far 
north; a land of milk, honey
and gold not spent; the convoy
takes the high road, to high ground.
The reluctant child the Pied Piper 
left behind stares as the taillights
pass into fog, moving from protest 
to communal perfection.


2019 and for the first time
I visit the fabled site. Far from 
a radical El Dorado, it peddles 
alternative therapies, spiritual 

retreats, crystal bracelets. Tents 
and benders, yurts and buses
replaced by identikit mobile 
homes and permanence; radicalism 

by concession; anarchy 
by capitalism. I leave as 
the tide edges from the bay. 
Gulls and oystercatchers 
scouring the mud for anything 
that will sustain them.  I watch 
as a detectorist, head down,¬¬¬
blind to the world, deaf to all 

but the swooshes and wails
in his headphones, sweeps 
 across the sand and silt in search
of his own treasure. His own 

El Dorado. Forlorn, he leaves 
with a handful of rubbish -
dreams of wealth departing; 
dashed against material rock.

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This entry was posted on November 12, 2021 by in Will Vigar and tagged , , , , , , .
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