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Poetry Library Southbank Centre - The Poetry Library housing the Arts Council Collection at Southbank Centre

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Richard Toovey

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Drowning

How many times have you been with him down there,
frantically trying to dislodge his foot while he pulls
and the recoil brings him mockingly closer?
You rage beyond your last breath as it bubbles
over the inanimate rock and the cleft
which a father’s love should enable you to force
or unlock with a twist of the leg, so you’ve none left
to give when they bring him with you to the surface
and you wake at your wife’s side fighting the bell
which calls the end of the round, unclinch, and drags
you off to sponge your face and try to tell
yourself against the evidence: they don’t come back.

Panelling

Some people finger the panelling
of each other’s hearts for years
and never find the inner chamber;

others just walk in,
without having even seemed
to lean against a particular spot
and exert pressure.

They could be forgiven for assuming
that it’s just another room
but then why do they make such a point
of making themselves at home?

They re-arrange the furniture,
take down the paintings,
tear out the pages with dedications
from the private library

and leave,
twisting the secret panel shut,
damaging the delicate
mechanism of the counterweight.

They must believe it comes
that easily to everyone.

 

Page(s) 55-56

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