Golden Opportunity

by David Oakley-Hill
(Luton, Beds)

Cottonball clouds in a clear cobalt sky
the crocodile, palest green, watches
the head between his teeth
bears a kind of smile
as the mood turns to purple
as the hero beguiles
as the time ticks fast -
faster on his side of the closing net

At every chance of a morsel of breath
the slowly waving anemones
bring their pink tentacles together
and the great crescendo builds
then ebbs before the rippling wave from Mexico
until the throbbing pulse fades

then the briefest of calm
before the delicious moment when
worn down by projectile blows
of manta shrimp or cuttlefish
or gentle stroke of geisha girl
the old guard, the faded red power is swept away
the clamour and rush overlaying the rumble
as the federation, vanquished, crumbles

the volcano rises
scarlet, white and ultramarine
its painted masks, and animal spirits
now as one
they scream and cheer
“Andy’s got the gold!”
(the first since my dad was ten years old)