MacAdam Essays the Meaning of Loss
Angels chatter on aerials, masts and phone wires
around a forecourt studded with covenantal drops.
The reluctant hero, aged 18, jumps off the bus
to wild acclaim from above and is ignored
by everyone shadowing the streets this fine
early spring forenuin. MacAdam – guestimate:
21 again and counting back the way –
would be equally indifferent but that he'd know
what we are avoiding in our hero's eye:
a slendercast of all he left behind to learn
the pressure needed for a happy trigger.
Now, reader, look again: the scene is gone,
the bottom of the page a smoking barrel, empty
like MacAdam's glass, pretending on the bar
where those who know the terror of a beauty in
established labour wait with the angels for a sign.
MacAdam Essays an Act of Faith
Water’s a
persuasive barrier
to most
but MacAdam
takes to it
like a stone
skimming
a flat loch
on a sunlit
morning
until his
unlikely feet
send him
— no boat
no miracle hand
in sight —
towards the deep
dazzling
dark
