Until the Last’s Returning: Fourth Battle Stations
The Folly
Battle Stations
Until the Last’s Returning
He waits along the quay, mood agity, wandered well away
From sheltered benches where a better class
Than Dougal counts himself…city sorts, on holiday
Able to have loose ends and weekends to their lives
Booked today not forever, but for the harbour tour
Bide their shaded skin below the awning until the last’s returning
Evil is on his mind, an utter oddity
And yet, Dougal is willing to allow philosophy
Of every stripe and taste, few things more expanding to the mind
Than being jilted by a ghost
And it’s true, is it not?
Fiona…? He would like to ask
Wennie seems well, an ordinary lad
‘Your father, son, and your mother’
Dougal crouching, blinking, too late stricken by the thought
He has never given such a speech
‘Oh, Dad. He’s dead, I know. But Mother…’
The child pats the mustard seed pendant
The only thing Fiona has so far managed, the bestowing of it
‘Well, aye, you must think of her that way, being with you always’
Fiona, do we think of it, somewhere, in agonies
This minute I step round, and make back towards you
A footfall’s lapse, and someone perishes
This minute I check my watch
And tell myself, she’s fine, she’s safe
The boy is fine, he’s safe
Conflagrations and quakes, are at this minute taking place
Ligurian waters lap, they wink and nod
The killer Falco hasn’t cause to hunt abroad
Only our friends at home
Are stalked
Until the Last’s Returning
The Epistles
(2019, Stephanie Foster)