Half a century in
batting against a sticky wicket
of memories that refuse to be washed away
they rest in the middle of the Irish sea
onboard a ferry
a lounge deck smelling of whiskey & ginger ale
flirting laughter, brown upholstery
receiving waxy apples
from kern’s lunch boxes
collected in a faux leather shopping bag
worn at the handles
cracked with white webbing
and had brighter days
you, the centre of male attention
twirl & run, run & twirl
towards soldiers who fuss
making sheep eyes at your mother
on the way to Ireland
bag toppling with apples
you lift one to your mouth
crunch around bruises
careful to leave browned peel
alone, like mini-islands on flesh
clearing passageways
for when you are much older
middle-aged
navigating torrents
of what feels like forbidden fruit.
Helen Harrison is a poet, based in the Northwest of England, she has been published with The North, Bare Fiction, Ink, Sweat & Tears, The Interpreter’s House, Cake, Flash, Prole Books, Home from Home, Axon, Cerasus, Shorts Magazine and has held Artist-in-Residence with Lime Arts, and Manchester University NHS Foundation Trust.