The June Poem

Summer of '45

Gerard Rochford

My mother drives us singing into town.
There is a fog and a man has been hit by a car;
he lies in the road amid the dancing crowds.
Father takes off his jacket, covers the face.

Later we notice a bloodstain on the sleeve.
It is never worn again, but hung on a hook
like meat in a butcher's shop.

The war in Europe is over: a man is dead in the street,
the bells are ringing, widows and mothers weep.

We drive home slowly back into the village.
Father, in shirt sleeves, serves cider, proposes a toast.
Somewhere in town a policeman stands at a door.

The sun pushes through: crimson headed goldfinch,
explosions of gold on their wings,
attack the parachutes of thistle.
A cat creeps towards them on its belly.

In the Burmese jungle my brother crawls,
alert as a panther, knife and rifle ready.

© Gerard Rochford

Gerard's publications include 'Eating Eggs with Strangers', 'The Holy Family and Other Poems', and 'Figures of Stone' (Koo Press). His poem 'My Father's Hand' was in Janice Galloway's selection of 'Best 20 Scottish Poems of 2006' on behalf of the Scottish Poetry Library. He is the Scottish Review's Makar of 2010 and will contribute a poem each month.