Thereisnocavalry

Here’s a poem I wrote after a little walk by the local river.

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A Cry for Help

by David Milligan-Croft.

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By mid afternoon

I had the urge to be near a body of water.

I’m not sure why.

Sometimes, it’s best not to question these things,

and just go with whatever your instincts tell you.

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I drove a few miles

to where the rivers Tame and Goyt

confluence into the Mersey.

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It looked as though other life forms

had had the same urge as me,

as the banks teemed with life:

Bees, wasps, butterflies, horseflies, dragonflies…

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Leaves spiralled down

from the dense canopy of trees

landing on the brown, languid water.

Pink and white petals floated slowly by on the surface.

It seemed a little early for autumn,

it being a hot August afternoon.

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Occasionally, concentric ripples punctuated the surface

from gulping fish below.

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I walked slowly along the riverbank

filtering the birdsong from the roar of jet engines above.

White ashes of spent fires dotted the path

along with discarded beer cans and energy drinks.

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I was searching for a spot to sit and read my book

and absorb the medicine of Mother Nature.

Eventually, I spied a bench, but that too had been

used as a source of fuel for a fire.

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The shallows were littered with human detritus:

a bike wheel, some kind of cage or trolley, a traffic cone,

there was even a soiled diaper.

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Soon, the path I trod became so choked with nettles

that I could explore no further.

What was the point of this sudden urge

to be by water, I wondered.

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Perhaps it was Mother Nature calling,

crying out for help.

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