Likestarlings

The storm
(i.m. William Brown)

We hid when the old man came around
with his wheeze and his bunch of padlocks.
In the moonlit dusk there was hardly a sound.

We were cold even huddled together. Soon
there was distant thunder, and lights on the lawn
and a stag-headed figure swaying to an eerie tune

on the sax, a brass band lurched into life.
I had my fingers in my ears, licking the trembling air
and carrying a lantern, there: the ghost of your wife.

We ran helter-skelter down to the lake.
Saw little catspaws squirm on the water,
a storm of geese, a black swan, a Mandarin drake,

and I was scared. I bit my tongue.
We tugged off our shoes and waded out.
You wanted to catch a pelican

in your teeth, the way Greek sailors do,
swallowing the bill and belly. To distract you from the rain
now mottling us in fury, I pushed you,

grabbed a helmless skiff and headed out,
away from the lights and the music and
into the black. You said nowt

behind me – I realised you’d gone. Just gone.
When a boatful of drunken wiggers rammed me,
laughing as they went under, it was no joke

pulled down by the weight of their rings.
The wind was whipping up and I pulled their baby on board,
buttoned him inside my coat, I started to sing.

Little urchin foxcub, he got a faceful of spray
but just blinked and bubbled and I thought
he’s gonna be fine, I’ve gotta save something

from all this. I’ll keep you safe, little man, whatever.
In the lightning flashes, the moon shrank behind cloud.
His pale face looking up, heart fluttering like a fever,

I felt suddenly fierce with this new love I’d found
and I used my hands as paddles to work us on
the way we were heading, no thought of turning round.