WESTERNAYS Poem by Jane Draycott

for Bernard
is when your car ends facing backwards
on the wrong side of the road

when the wind beats your umbrella
till its insides all hang out

when the water takes your little boat
and spins it like a plate.

It's like a song reversed, a church
constructed widershins

to face the falling sun, the day
next week or sometime soon

you'll take a truth and twist it,
turn a child to face the wall

or force a man stark naked
to get down and lick the floor.

It's the dream which has you driving
down exactly the wrong street

as you race to reach your boat
before it sails.

It's the wind along the western quay,
the voices in its throat

the seaman on the closing doors,
the words you hear him shout

I'll wait. I'll wait all night
if need be. I can wait.