Dom McLoughlin
Backbone
He was always at a slight
angle to the world. In bed,
a thoughtful lover once said
he braided his legs
like a snake round a branch.
All this to make up for
a childhood accident.
As an old man
his spine wavered and bent
like a half-remembered tune
whistled into the wind.
Always either hunched over,
forever the beachcomber,
or lying tipped right back,
wriggling in his seat
trying to find the exact
swivel and tilt, throwing
mad shapes under the moon,
figuring out where his spine
wanted him to be.
Page(s) 58
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