The Putting Green

I’m glowing from my mid-June sea-swim

God is in his cubby hole storage space

A place usually concealed by slatted chubb-lock doors,

which today he has flung open wide

like his man spread, 

as he sits performing a one-person show

for the couple standing before him for all eternity.

You are invited to partake in a round.

This much I gather

from the spread of score cards, balls and anti-bac spray

with a motley selection of diecast putters 

leaning invitingly against a laminate top catering table.

The putting green shimmers with holy portent.

Its eighteen solar systems

each undulating around their dead suns,

sucking soft dimpled moons

into a comforting abyss.

Announcing their demise with an edifying clonk,

a down the drain rattle of an ending.

A pastel draped couple stand ready

Moon scythes in hand before God,

discussing something beyond my perception.

In this vacuum of Summer

I feel my chest fill

with an infinite optimism informed

by times spent within these finite

models of the cosmos.

I didn’t ever want to fall off the edge

of the putting green.

But somehow here I am

outside looking in

at the swathe of immanence of it all.

This sundried, suspended, 

cool as an unencumberment tableau.

I knew it was here waiting.

Even before I had arrived at this pedestrian crossing

from the prom to marine gardens.

I anticipate the pimples beneath my blind feet

A place where last time we stood together

you had turned back from the party

to check on my whereabouts.

And, there I was stumbling

after my skimming sojourn

back up the sticky pebbled slope hoping

to rejoin the group.

You appeared to me 

as a crossing-lady Ololon

Today I approach from the pier end

glowing from my mid-June swim

And the all at-once-ness of our time becomes obvious.

The pedestrian crossing awaits

and I’m smug as a bug

skin tingling and tight

as I maintain a six-foot social distance

from walkers, cyclists and roller-skating families.

I’m strolling along the prom.

We are all strolling along the prom.

One day soon I’ll get to the pedestrian crossing

And see myself disappearing with you

onto the putting green cosmos.

Until then I keep strolling

Enjoying the views and the sensation

Of my gently burning skin.