30 poems in 30 days
2 April 2013
My first attempt at everything
Twenty-four times the camera lied, each time
winding on an empty spool. I wouldn’t know
for another week how the reel slot had rejected
my film, leaving acetate virginal, spotless, all
negatives unseen. Not even a blur of thumb or
rain-speck to date-stamp my days of independence
in Devon’s deluged towns. Fleeing the zoo, coatless,
amidst a downpour, there was no ark or rainbow
awaiting; just one unreliable VW bug which greedily
swallowed our group of five; transporting us back
to the caravan park to gorge on something herby.
The one sunny day was spent underground in
Kents Cavern, where I learned I became
claustrophobic in the dark. Lack of daylight
causing me to hyperventilate. It could have been
that, or perhaps the earlier midnight swim, stoned,
had sent my head spinning so that I couldn’t know
if the memory of that night was still being
processed by everyone. Had I made an indelible
mark or was I washed out after coming out? I have no
record of their faces, just the knowledge of a hand
on my shoulder keeping me upright, midway between
the responses, “Most people are probably a little bit
bisexual” and, “I’m not sleeping anywhere near you, then.”