Swollen River by Robert Nisbet

Suddenly bright, after mid-December murk,

a shopping centre Saturday. Rhodri,

writing a piece for his newspaper,

Christmas Commercialised,

notes first of all, and more than anything, 

that lovely swollen river, racing its course between

the shopping streets, in whirls and eddies,

spits and surges. Rain has come down from the fields

for weeks now. Tides have been high.

Rhodri has reached the shops armed with clichés.

He expected the ringing of the cash register,

gets in fact the whirr and purr of the card machines.

In the wine shop, Jenny serves him

but the bell and tassel on her Santa’s cap

hang without enthusiasm. She will serve wine

till six, when Darren will collect her,

then they’ll bicker a path round Tesco.

Rhodri meets the Harrieses. Twenty per cent off,

says Mister H, is eighty per cent still on.

In his notebook Rhodri scribbles wry humour.

Many others shop. There are deals and bargainings

but sometimes there are such draughts of weariness.

(Just outside Boot’s, a surge of swollen water

slaps on the old quay wall).

Now the sky is lit by the colours of four o’clock,

blue into grey and back to blue.

Rhodri folds his pad away while,

mentally subterranean,

the river swells in its December beauty

beneath them all, beneath them all.

*First appeared In Ink, Sweat and Tears (UK) in 2015.

 

Robert Nisbet lives in the UK, in rural Wales, about as far as you can get from London, travelling West. His poems have been published widely in Britain and the USA, including regular appearances in San Pedro River Review, Panoply and Red River Review.