A familiar voice called me
By my name. There’s darkness,
In my head and around me. I
Don’t know why, it seems distant.
Distance, I had ran, down the
Road, back up the hill, shouted
A warning, looked at the van.
Phoned down to the other place
But was interrupted, although
I heard and recall nothing.
Another familiar voice, on
The radio this time, from the other
Place I think, there’s an urgency.
The old man, the driver, had
Looked so bewildered, said
Something about his family taken,
And the van and 20 minutes.
There’s that familiar voice again
I sense light, catch a glimpse of
A flashlight and other voices now too-
“Christ he looks bad”
A pressing weight is lifted, and then I am.
Muted muffled pandemonium,
Everything has moved and is broken.
A hand takes mine, and presses it
To my head. Clarity and recall
Kick in, get searching and fuck the risk.
Three, two, then only one is missing.
Ah no, not him not Cyril.
He was laughing with me only,
Minutes ago I guess, getting ready
To go home for good in six weeks
To Carrick-Fergus, and the family business.
A familiar face, looms out at me
In my mind’s eye, but in finding him, I
Don’t see it, or a side of his scalp
His brain, feet or hands -just
Union jack boxers remain.
I lose his cheerful voice in the dark,
And say a prayer, not knowing
What else to do, and then call out;
In my own now unfamiliar voice
Driftwood and Solitude 