Nov 17, 2008

poem

THE TRANSMISSION OF SIR RONALD BELFORD SCOTT

It was a time I never knew existed until now
a crowd at the Myer Bowl held transfixed
raw sound raw power missing teeth
and a denim bulge
I can get closer than most though
Because I can see a little girl running like a rabbit
trying to turn back time and
make the cells normal please
I can see how rough it is
compared to the soft sandstone bluffs of an Iowa river
the leash has been broken here
and this sun has declared itself different
from the one that blinds the Queen's dogs
Can I hold you and tell you that everything will be all right?
Your racing heart beats your mind
but your mind beats your body and leaves it on a lucky beach
somewhere under the broken Southern Cross
where tin cans of beer are drunk by blonde boys
scared of failure
I was too young then to travel on my own
let alone fly in like a bird of all things
but now I am able to move freely about the cabin
to hold your hand to kiss your forehead and to feel the heat
escape his crown
I tell him it is o.k. to go and that
I am the freak who will keep his little girl safe
from the lawlessness of a distant outpost