THE BOY BALANCING By MIKE JENKINS
(for Gus Payne)
On a stool at the almost top,
almost egg-tip of a yellow world,
he stands balancing,
arms out streatched trying to be wings.
I've been there many times in dreams:
On clifflines and edges of buildings,
on proms above a gnashing sea
and known vertigo, skull sent spinning.
He strains his neck, face skyward
wanting to be an angel,
but he's grounded on the slanting stool,
his shadow wide as a wall.
He is tugged back to earth
by a tearing dog, teeth gripping jeans
and I have known that too in dreams,
fangs which rip through clothing.
His neck's an open wound,
his skin is shaved by the wind.
Will the earth begin to crack,
or sky rain feathers on him?
MG Payne - Pwyso / Balancing, 21x31cm, oil on board.