End of the Season
(John Raymond Pollard)



End of the season … I pack things away,
Folding your towel and a sheet.
I have a deep tan and memories.
How long before they fade?

Went the airport at the beak of day.
You boarded; my dreams flew away.
Yearning, returning in an air conditioned bus
I froze in Bermudas and a T.

I want to fly away, swift as your temper and your tongue,
Far away from heartache and from pain.
I want to find a way to undo the damage that’s been done.
Would we have talked it out if we had had another day?

I have been living an international life --
Two continents share one Atlantic coast --
Speaking three languages, albeit confusedly.
Words can fail when they’re needed most.

Change should be easy in middle age:
Move on; merely turn the page.
Back here in Barra I walk along the balustrade.
Surfers await the perfect wave.

I want to ride that wave, find the balance that I crave
And if I fall down know it’s only play.
I want to find way to say to say the things I need to say,
Avoiding rocks and dangers on the way.

A friend once told me a lover’s like the bus
One moves on; another’s on the way.
I hate the waiting when I reach the final stop
All I know is that I seldom know the way.

End of the season … I pack things away,
Folding your towel and a sheet.
I have a deep tan and memories.
How long before they fade?