Return – a poem

by Andrew Rumsey

Something's afoot

But not quite at hand:

A closeness, a crackle

you can't understand.

Could that be the Father? Or was it the son?

The ghost of a guess that his brother has come.

The return of the son!

O, the drum of my heart

The return, the return of the son

- I must run!

News breaks like glass:

shards of scattering fact.

Half-heard and sharp words

barked out, inexact.

Some dash to kitchens,

Some, all unprepared, beg

Favours from neighbours,

ask time to be spared.

The return of the son!

O, the drum of my heart

The return, the return of my son

- I must run!

So, parading these legs

like an old madcap turkey,

skidding and scratching

round corners I skim.

Cup running over,

And tears draining down,

For dear life I tear

Through the tumbling town.

The return of the son!

O, the drum of my heart

The return, the return of my son

- I must run!

On! On!

Dashing like mad

Like a full pelt, heartfelt, foolish dad.

Laughing and choking

and soaking the scorn up,

running the gauntlet for him - all for him!

The return of the son!

O, the drum of my heart

The return, the return of my son

- I must run!

So outpace disgrace, now

And outstrip your fears!

The alarm of love

for the aching years.

None of it matters,

Just this urgent joy

none of it matters,

my boy, my boy.

Copyright ©2006 Andrew Rumsey


The Revd Andrew Rumsey is Vicar of Gipsy Hill, London

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