Monday's Prompts (with a secret twist)
Hundreds would come
All over wales.
An angel in spotlight,
And the money I'd earn from giving such exhibitions
I saw the moon
And watch me, thousands, even, including Kathleen Parry.
As if a fellow-diver,
Below it, a procession of grey clouds
I would give exhibitions
By going on a newspaper round this August
How she would applaud; how everyone would.
I could earn money
I couldn't somersault or fly,
I knew with the certainty of revelation:
I looked up at the sky
I would pass on to my mother.
Like the Figure-of-Eight at Porthcawl.
Loop-the-loop and fly-dive
Michael O'Brien in my class,
Modestly, I would listen to their eulogies,
Moving fast in the opposite direction.
Racing one way and,
Someone up there,
That white, clown-faced boy who always came late,
Then I knew what I had to do,
Was about to swallow-dive.
To earn a golden sovereign
Why, if I could somersault
Suddenly, I felt strangely happy.
I ran faster over the half-dry pavements
Money in their socks