Michael Conley
At the only point on the pier
where the sea’s boisterous swell
clears the high stone wall
of course you’re the first
to leap onto a bench’s frosted sill
and bathe your face in the mist
and of course I’m behind you thinking
we haven’t had any breakfast
and my hands are cold
and the holiday is already half done
and why aren’t you more careful
because what if you slip backwards
and crack your head on a paving stone
or pitch forwards over the black wall
and slip forever under the black ocean
leaving me holding the car keys
and explaining what you’re like
to people who would never understand
and these thoughts rest
like a furtive anchor tethering my heart
to my stomach’s floor always
and of course I catch up and join you
and we stand side by side
eyes scrunched to the icy needling
of the overreaching surf
and there is a moment of only
the sea roar and the only weight
is your hand on my shoulder
and what has your love been all these years
if not this and what if your love
is the ocean but my love is the high wall
and what if your love is the bench
but my love is the frost on it
and what if your love is the spray
but my love is the grey concrete
and what if your love is the lifeboat centre
and all the boats in it
and the life rings dangling from the railings
but my love is the public information board
promising wildlife that isn’t here
and local events that haven’t been on
since before the pandemic
what if my love is the warning signs
everywhere: don’t stand on the benches;
keep children away from the edge;
no dogs; no swimming;
caution, restrictions apply;
danger of death
Michael Conley is a poet from Manchester. His work has appeared widely in magazines such as Rialto, Magma and Butcher’s Dog, and his pamphlet, These Are Not My Dreams was published by Nine Pens press in 2021. He won the 2022 Peggy Poole Award for his poem ‘Goat Bones’.
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