Alternative Medicine

     for Brian (1943 – )
 

She missed my call.
 
The April weather so fine she was painting,
potting-up plants, working on driftwood:
anything really to keep me outside.
No-one could get my father into the house before sundown –
it must be in the genes.
 
His too – my Irish brother-in-law
pottering daily on peaty land,
struggling to stem the growth,
transistor music playing.
 
Means to give the house
one final lick of paint –
Imperial Chemicals’ special brand.
 
His kind of therapy
(just like the radio).
 
Dead to the world –
like a poet perched on the leads
or a fiddler on the roof, denying
the dusk, steeped in the beauty:
perfect oblivion.
 
Won’t come in till the sun goes down.

Carolyn King

Winner, The Farringford Prize, The Poetry Society Centenary /
Tennyson Bi-Centenary Open Poetry Competition, 2009