Ferriby Foreshore, February Afternoon 2005 By Terry Ireland

The river was calm this afternoon with a low sun Casting a mile wide buttery playing field dotted With the white of drifting clouds moving slowly Across the yellow: to my left rising up I spotted Two pairs of mallard flying line astern past me, Splitting into two pairs each to go their own ways. I felt myself following their progress, aiming off Imagined squeezing the trigger like in the old days Recalled my feelings of cold horror and distaste As I picked the slack carcasses up from their fall Opened my bag, pushed my kill in in a haste; To get them out of my sight, to deny my crime; To get that dead feel away from my fingers; Back over the years those powerful memories Still there so strong, still so vividly linger I regret every one death I still feel that guilt a lot Though not for sport For the family food pot.

The river sometimes does this to me, dragging my life From deep deep down brain and spreading it out there Churning my joys, hates, loves, memories, fears, Into mishmash that always leads to this black despair. I do not like the water, though I cannot keep away. It lures me and lulls me, whispers, sings and calls So strongly; I have this real, strong fear that one day It will at last succeed and I Will be drawn by its cold beauty To explore the unknowable, to fulfil What seems a long time deferred duty. Destiny maybe; and then as always The pathways go, covered by cloud And the clown can return, muttering His heartfelt thanks out aloud. The river so powerful deep Cold fast wide tells me How very easily it can Carelessly dash me aside; Only the river can do this to me, For only the river seems able to see Deep down to my mind inside And the once crying child That many of us need to try and hide

Copyright Terry Ireland 2008

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