Taken by a Reservoir, Somewhere up North

It got to him from way back,

homing in 

from an unromantic evening,

typically late fifties:

a Woolworth's painting dab of sunset 

hunkering down 

behind louring dark rocks, 

the sting of cheap shampoo 

from her dishevelled hair,

and, oh no, oh no,

coming away none-the-wiser

after not blunting an old penknife 

on the rough sandstone 

not bearing their names 

longer than themselves.

Still the wry chuckle of water, 

the sky red-faced with sniggering, 

and the embarrassment of hair 

stranded in time with a dull face, 

unenhanced by a life-time's exposure.

No wonder the old photograph 

turned sour in his hands - 

in a postmodernist sort of way.

.

Reviews

[lizardbrain]

i like the way this poem is both vague and descriptive at the same time, requiring a few reads to get a good grasp of what's going on, somewhat like piecing together how a few random photographs might be related to one another.. good work :)

[Gerald Parker]

Thank you for persevering with this. I'm pleased it grabbed your attention. Actually I intended it to be read as thoughts and memories evoked by only one photograph, (which doesn't exist, by the way).

[Terpsichore]

I read a great number of poems on this site, I only EVER comment on the stuff I like, and I liked this in spades. T

[Gerald Parker]

Thanks. Much appreciated.

[Terpsichore]

Bloody brilliant! And I mean it. 'The sting of cheap shampoo from her dishevelled hair,' brings an incredibly clear image to the mind's eye. T

[Gerald Parker]

Wow! I'm putting the flags out and cracking open the champagne. The first comment in months!
Many thanks, T.

Nobody, I mean NOBODY, reviews my poems on this site!