Someone once said "good poetry requires no explanatory notes" so here are mine for the poem that follows...

It describes a short walk along the coast of South Wales near to Swansea. The previous weekend Roger McGough had given a reading as part of the Dylan Thomas Festival in Laughan, a bit further down the peninsular. For those who don't already know that neck of the woods, the massive steelworks at Port Talbot are just across the bay from Swansea. Much of the coast is, perhaps unsurprisingly, like Cornwall (or maybe Cornwall is a bit like this part of South Wales - discuss).

No, I won't spoil Roger McGough's "zabaglione joke!".

 

           Zabaglione

With the summer mewling, needing care

We chanced upon a path above the sea

That rose to hug the cliff top from the beach

And found ourselves together striding there.

 

Birds circling below; pigeons, gulls.

A gush of steam marks metal being quenched

Across this bay which, squinted at could be

Any DuMaurier describes, for fools.

 

Scottie dog, dalmation, a terrier pup

Enquire as to why we lie so still,

Faces catching weak but welcome warmth

That mid-spring sun gives dreamers looking up.

 

We fuss each dog but they leave us as if

Embarrassed, owners tug them back to heel

Repaired they fade and leave our hollow cup

Nose, air horn searching for a final sniff.

 

Down this Thomas’ coast Roger McGough

Cajoled reluctant poets into life

By telling his zabaglione joke*

Knitting words before casting them off.

 

Simple chance had led us all to share

A moment in our lives when we all touched

And crossed upon that path above the sea

The summer mewling, needing care.

 

 

* If you haven’t heard Roger delivering the zabaglione joke, do yourself a favour and catch him live where, during an enchanting, educational, nostalgic and revelation filled evening you might, if you are lucky, be subject to it!