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Poem

In retrospect, for the US SS

Times when the winds howl
and chase ships home to brood
there are no fish in the water
that did not tremble too.

In the nude of the dawn
and at the trembling of the day
a rapturous melancholic wonder
holds you at bay.

Then the meal that’s stripped in form
    is in remote mood sliced
and you did not know
    if your hand you cut for cake
nor did you think it could…

In such times too
in the teeming thought of the town
think you :

with all eyes chasing you
down the street
you draw up at red
and stretch out when green

          did not do it
          did not will it
but you did it all the same
why you couldn’t think of blame

yet all the company followed you
way from vacant luminous glares
of gathering traffic throbbing by

but then even in red wheels roll
and what head of hero did not roll…

You have talked to her out of sight
in the placid coolness of the night
you had never thought this could bite
and despite old odourless days

     winds will rush in spite

for even in red wheels roll…
and what head of hero will not roll


© T. Wignesan, 1955 - London (from the collection: tell them i'm gone, 1983)

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