Christian Ward is a UK based poet who can be currently found in Wild Greens, Cold Moon Review, Discretionary Love, Spillwords and Chantarelle’s Notebook. Future poems will be appearing in Spry, Dreich and Uppagus.
Portrait of my father as a young man
Formalwear doesn't suit you - the white Malteser of your head standing out like Tippex against a pinstripe or navy blazer. In photos, that skull hard to ignore, your Nosferatu features a give away. No wonder you were chased often: under the local by-pass, down canals and through city centres by boys unable to make sense of your unusual genetics. Later you hid under a scarf, tucking away every inch of your face like a bird permanently preening its feathers, afraid of the constant presence of dirt. Once, I saw you take it off at night, outshining the garden flowers all at once and making the visiting foxes curl at your feet.
Brighton at Dusk
Unpeopled arcades and the empty pier hum their gospels at dusk, when the last of the clubbers have gone home and the sea is steady. They sing of loneliness, of vinyl hours, of oil, hair slicked into Brylcreem waves. Only the rattling of runaway supermarket trolleys makes the minutes go quicker, the scampering of wheels like the squeals of children running.