Morgan’s Declaration

by Ruth Gilchrist

I look out the window
torrents of brown water spewing
out of gutters, surging over
the pavement. And he`s standing
looking up at me, sea grey
eyes doing all the shouting.

The rain; dowsing his sandpaper face,
relentless on shoulders heavy
in his oil skin, slowing in
the creases of orange waders
falling away in runnels over
boots of lifeboat yellow.

Both hands hold the gulping fish
today’s offering;
a red, red Gurnard.

I stifle a giggle
imagine him singing but
this is no Shakespeare play
just Morgan from next door

just this boy drowning in a man’s body
floundering in emotions he doesn’t
understand, expressing them in
the only way he knows how.