By Robyn Sykes
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When bellows from the cattle break the silence of the stars
and triticale whispers golden code;
when Meg fits snug-in-saddle or marks sheep with coloured raddle;
when she dreams of kids or laughs aloud, or tinkers with the cars;
life’s easy as a stroll along the road.
.
It’s when she’s on the stage that Brian flinches, hides his eyes.
Tonight, it’s Reedy River. It looks real.
He sees her kiss the hero, which she swears off-stage means zero.
But for Brian there’s no hall or lights: just fingers on his prize.
The crowd erupts, but Brian’s tight as steel.
.
The actors bow, all smiles and sweat. Adrenaline runs wild.
Meg snorts at jokes and stories, cracks a beer.
The leading pair clink glasses: a dark grimace quickly passes
over Brian’s face; his fists clench in his pocket, like a child.
Now prove ya love me Meg. Let’s outta ‘ere.
.
The night’s just warming up, Meg pleads. The singing will start soon.
We’re only 21, let’s stay out late.
His top lip sneers a warning and her dreams chant prayers of mourning:
as the buzz of the performance dies, as silent as the moon,
the face that won the hero tempts her fate.
.
In character, my mind is stretched, I walk in others’ shoes.
The world expands, it helps me see beyond
the village and the petty spats, the football and confetti.
On the stage I nearly fly… see other paths… learn how to choose.
I’m pumped to party; that’s how I respond.
.
Yer off your rocker Meggsie. It’s not real, it isn’t… how
the world… I can’t explain…not how it works.
Ya think yer red-hot clever: let me tell ya, ya won’t ever
turn a dollar. If ya really loved me babe, yu’d come ’ome now.
Let’s spend some time alone, without these jerks.
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The seat belts click and Brian growls, How could ya? Cantchya see?
Me mates’ll think I’m married to a tart.
His steel-tipped focus narrows, and his words churn blood like harrows:
So ya havta quit. Yeah, stuff the play. I swear… quit now… fer me.
I can’t babe… the whole cast…you’ll break my heart.
.
Yer crazy, Miss In-character-my-mind-is-stretched. Insane!
Ya crappy, useless, lazy piece a dirt.
He slams the brakes … goes crackers … fists explode as five attackers.
When she crumples to a foetal-curl … swish-thud! The boot print’s plain.
One part of Meg floats up, looks down, alert.
.
Then something breaks the spell, she’ll never know what stopped the blows.
A screech of tyres: Meg finds herself alone.
Through lonely vetch and fescue, silent stars light paths to rescue.
As the doctor stitches, splints and plasters, treats her broken nose,
she gives no answer… not a word or groan.
.
The nightmares slam her sleep; a drip with drugs assuages pain.
The halo of the dawn is pearl-framed haze.
Her misted mind discovers, as she hides beneath the covers,
Doctor Khan believes she’s lucky: though she’ll scar, she’ll see again.
Her brain plays loops, marooned inside a maze.
.
Was this my fault? I know I’m bad. I know, he told me so.
But surely I do not deserve this grief?
It’s over! Yes we’re finished. I will not be so diminished.
I don’t care what he will say or do, in heaven or below,
I’m out. Thank God! It still is my belief:
.
In character, my mind is stretched, I walk in others’ shoes.
The world expands, it helps me see beyond
the village and the petty spats, the football and confetti.
On the stage I nearly fly… see other paths… learn how to choose.
I’ve made my choice. Here, now, I break your bond.
© Robyn Sykes 2019. Winner Nandewar Poetry Prize 2019