Flynn Poem by Don Pearson

Flynn



Wendy,
It was disconcerting,
on my first meeting
the stranger who became
your new lover,
to hear him say,
as he swigged from his can
of Tennant’s Super,
“I’m sorry, but I have to drink
because it stops the voices.”
Learning about the Largactyl
he wasn’t taking
did not allay my concerns.
After the violence had begun,
he carefully explained to me how
keeping your husband’s ashes at home
had enabled your husband
to speak to him
and make him hit you.

All this was long before
he threw the chair at you
while I went to the shops
and left the pair of you
in my flat
for a few minutes.

Was it after he kicked you,
or was it another time,
that he shaved half of
the hair of his head
in the cemetery,
in expiation of his sins,
as a good Catholic should?

After the wedding,
it became more difficult
because he had nowhere else to go.
You’d throw him out for good but
each time he was out on bail,
you let him back in
and dropped the charges.

I read about his release
From Exeter prison
and Noreen phoned to say
she saw him with your dog.

I may not be round
for a while,
Love,
Don

1st October 2009

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