The roar of the Atlantic Ocean breaks in time with Ginsberg’s words

And the woman that I laid next to on the beach stretched

Her arms out absent-mindedly as far as they would go and

Casting a shadow on the seventeenth page, making me flick tiny particles of sand

over her in disgust.

Her friend, listening to one of my tapes that I had recorded in my bedroom

Before I skipped across the pond to meet you, remarked that the batteries were running

Out and she was bored of listening to the sound of the ‘tramp,

Did I have anything else in my bag to listen to?

I shook my head, lying and knowing full well that she would go

Through them all given half the chance and the carefully put together tapes

Would probably never be seen or heard again.

Carrie, her father a fan of Stephen King, admonished me for flicking sand over her

And wondered what time the sun would go down over the rock so that the party could begin.

The party, unlike the one that heralded my leaving New York,

Was thankfully not for me, it just happened and one that for three days later

I would suffer the effects of.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as she got up and wiped herself down,

The dust and sand clinging provocatively to her body as I tried to keep

My eyes on the paragraph but failing miserably as I knew any respect

I showed her would be not reciprocated and that her lover, the girl rubbishing

My taste in music, would soon smack me one in the face if I tried.

I returned to the relative safety of Ginsberg

But kept an ear out for any approaching people to our section of beach

That would be bringing cheap wine, cheap booze, cheap women and even cheaper men

For the hundreds that were going to be there on the beach that night.

The short November day had been warm, even sultry by standards

I was used to.

I had walked into this crowd a few days earlier

As I had sat in a bar alone and the night had worn boringly on

And on; then they walked in. The atmosphere immediately changed

As if someone had realised that the English boy was in need of

Entertainment, a spark of final life to think about, a final

Temptation in which to keep him there.

Maria offered me a drag on her home made cigarette knowing full

Well I wouldn’t take it

But in the cold night air I would grasp greedily at

And mix together in my mouth with the taste of bourbon

Bought to the beach by Maria’s brother and his girlfriend,

Who through my eyes, I was sure was secretly enamoured by Carrie.

The fire was built as the sun started to grow heavy and for one brief sensational moment

They merged in some sort of celestial offering in which I was urged to throw

Down the book, put it away and offer myself to staying in a country

I had come to love but had also come to realise I could never be part of.

I downed a drink that I was handed to by Maria, or her brother, or by some other

Person as they engaged me in a conversation I was long past

Enjoying as the cheap beer fused with cut-rate bourbon and expensive cigarettes

Started to addle my brain and images of my time away from England

Became too much.

I wept openly at the thought of having missed you

And it was only noticed through the flames that danced infront of me

By Carrie as she sat opposite me, across the flames and across an ocean.

She smiled with sympathy but then went back to talking to the girl that sat beside her.

All I had ever seen, all I had done and relished with a vigour

That I could have only ever dreamed about from being a young boy

I would have to leave and go back to a life that I believed was no longer mine.

I hurt.

I didn’t want to go but neither could I stay.

It was whispered to me why not carry on walking

Take the bus or train and go running further into the country

There is surely more you would like to see I saw Carrie mouth through the flames

You might never make it over again and why stop

There. Get to California, walk down through in to South America

And then work your way to New Zealand and up into Asia

The flames that surrounded my guide grew hotter as her passion

Tried to dig deep into my psyche.

Never stop walking, never stop running, never stop trying to hide

Away from it all.

For a time I was tempted but as the evening wore on and the more I felt I was consuming

I thought of you and only you and I didn’t want to be consumed anymore,

Fool, idiot that I was.

I woke before the crowd and before the embers finally died

Made my way to the bus station a mile away to get the Greyhound home.

 

Ian D. Hall  2013