Antaeus

by G. Vass
(Glasgow)

Every day he gets better.
His eyes follow you round the room.
He recognises colours, remembers
the names of the birds,
the duration of his emptiness.
Yesterday,
he realised he couldn’t fly.

When he first came here,
we were at a loss. He said
he had X-ray eyes and that
he met the Devil in Safeway’s car park.
Presents as depressed. Family gone.
He didn’t say where.

He responds to various stimuli:
the patterns on his blanket,
pictures of horses and donkeys,
the music he says
comes from under the floorboards.
We don’t encourage him in this.

He’s had no visitors, and
reacted violently when
the gardener knocked on the window
to attract my attention to
the profusion of snowdrops in the grounds.
Restraints were called for.

Every day he gets better.
His eyes follow you round the room.
He recognises colours, remembers
the names of the birds,
the duration of his emptiness.
Yesterday,
he realised he couldn’t fly.