January 2011

Our Father Knew Three Bed-time Tales

Our father’s second-favourite bed-time tale
was rum, to say the least: cajoling servants
made to drag a throne onto the sands
and watch as King Canute controlled the tide
with soggy, but predictable results.
No talking bears, no magic beans, no mice,
no happy-ever-after wedding scene,
no drifting off to soothing platitudes.

And where was sleep, as my father-king roared
Go back! Go back! to imaginary waves
that still lapped round and soaked the candlewick?
Perhaps not comfort-blanket, more red flag:
don’t get your hopes up, father-wise: the beach
is full of plaster heroes with wet feet.

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