Andiamo – For Sir Michael Boyd

Back in the Way back when, not long after I moved to Sheffield, I joined the Crucible Youth Theatre. At the time, this fine, fine gentleman was directing at the main theatre and also worked with said Youth Theatre. Naturally, our paths crossed many, many times, and we often had a good laugh in the green room, the occasional drink, etc. Moreover, the man taught me how to act, something I thoroughly enjoyed at one point, but anxiety being what it is has meant I’ve not been able to use those skills for a very long time. I miss it, and I certainly miss the faith, nurturing and enthusiasm that was typical of him. I can’t say we were great friends, and we didn’t even stay in touch when he moved on, but he did have a huge effect on my life and my creative expression. Mostly because he was fearless in his criticism and sugar-coated nothing, as the poem below shows. Rest in Peace, darling.

Andiamo – For Sir Michael Boyd

Later that day, an apology 
arrived, Szechuan prawns 
and fried rice, strawberries 
steeped in Prosecco,
stuffed into straining 
Tupperware, freesias 
wrapped in cellophane;
and an offer to high kick
among the witches. 

See...The notebook he stole 
from my fisherman's bag,
- bought second hand 
from the rag and tag 
And still smelling faintly
Of scales and canal -

flew past me, scudding
over frosted pavement
and into the path of a 97
Bus, its snow booted
tires tearing my work,
dragging inadequate 
stanzas to Nether 
Edge. Consigning it 
to the slush pile.

‘Don't worry,’ he said, 
‘it was crap.’

And it was.

‘You can do better, 
darling. Much better.’

And I could.

‘You could write 
the world, darling.
But live it, live it.’

And I amo.