Thursday 17 November 2022



There was Jordan

at first

—the original game of chess;

the template,

the moves made.


Oh Jordan…

Were you lifetimes ago?

We rendezvoused at family homes.

We talked of having kids.

We were

the kids

on backyard trampolines

somewhere overseas.

Forever young

somewhere still.


And then

there was Mel.

My gorgeous Mel.

We crossed the Rubicon to adulthood

and I to sin.

Mel of the Garden,

I of the fruit.

If God could not forgive,

I know that you would still forgive.

Mel: the one who saw a prince

in the eyes of a toad.

Mel, with whom I ate at home

and was at peace.


And then



My mountaintop.

My lightning.

My pain and grace.

My Magdalene.

Diana, Diana…

All in the name

if all could know

what we once knew.

What now, queen? What now?

The line crossed.

The ribbon snapped.

The medals stored.

The crowd went home, sweet angel.

So did we

without each other.

The churches, the flesh,

the us against the lie.

The glory.

The aftermath.

To rejoice or despair,

my queen?


The stage is set.

We play our part.

I rise from a mattress on the floor

and draw the curtains.







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