Tuesday Poem - 'Sal'

Sal

I went for the job because it was as far from everything

that I could imagine and then some roads further.

I knew I’d get it. So far in my life

I’ve got pretty much everything I’ve wanted.

Sometimes that hasn’t turned out so well –

the little fish in my belly

reminds me every morning

I shouldn’t have wanted Mad Wolf Dan

quite as much as I did.

I’ll have to deal with that soon

but for now, I’m happy to step off the cook’s cart

into my new home.

And then I see him.

He’s standing on a makeshift stage

his arms open as though welcoming us

as though we are his cherished guests

not a prisoner, the new cook and a handful of guards.

He’s stripped to the waist -

a good sight, sure -

and he’s covered in waves.

They curl and tumble across his chest.

They break on his shoulder blades.

thunder down his forearms

and foam at his wrists.

Here, in the mountains, the prison guard

wears a constant homesick reminder

tattooed in blues

inked into his skin.

My hand reaches out.

More than anything I want to rest it

against that crash of cool water

that licks his navel.

I have to shut my eyes.

Clasp my hands together

to stop their wanton movement.

When I open them again,

I’ve shuffled forward

right to the front and he’s saying words

I can’t hear properly to me.

I look up into his indigo eyes.

I bob my cook’s curtsy

but I keep looking

bold as you like.

Or shipwrecked.

I’d swim in those eyes

I’d drown.

Well, it appears that the Tuesday Poem readers are going to be subjected, poem by poem, to my latest venture! If you don't want to read a fantasy in verse, hop over to the the Tuesday poem blog where you'll find a diversity of wonderful poems linked to the hub. The featured editor, Claire Beynon has posted a haunting poem by South African poet, Ruben Mowszowski.