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.









Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The bell ringers

Blind Man's Buff

Breaking Bread