Poem 6 - I have my yellow boots on to walk...

The sixth draft poem for Matthew Sweeney's Guardian Unlimited workshop:

I have my yellow boots on to walk,
the sort I always wear for an operation

like this. Lucky charms, you might say.
But don’t talk. The next few hours

will need to be as delicate and precise
as disarming a bomb, and as skilfully

executed as a hole in one. If I pull
this off, see, it’s the highlife abroad,

some gorgeous villa on the Med
with its sun-kissed walls, and a swimming

pool next to which I recline, the shimmering
waters, cigars and cocktails to pass the time;

in short, a world free from misery and strife.
If I fuck this up, I’ll be banged up for life.


Rob said...

And you had me thinking you were off to hospital at first, and that the yellow boots were part of a surreal plot against government health policy...

Nice piece of writing.

Cailleach said...

Me too - by the end of it I was seeing Matt Damon trying to get into a safe!