Antony Osgood lives a skimmed-stone’s bounce from Margate. His first non-fiction book was published in 2020 and a second will be out in 2022, both through Jessica Kingsley. His story Haus des Meeres appeared in BlueNib, September 2020, while the prose-poem All My Darlings Waiting was published by Literally Stories in May 2021. A poem written in a bread queue, called Barrier Nursing, is in the 100 Words of Solitude anthology by Rare Swan (Switzerland). He is completing his third novel. Retired early from academia and psychology, he passes his time with little to show for it.
Antony Osgood’s writing on disability and autism can be found at http://tonyosgood.com/
Not long ago we rigged a vote
To temper our yearning for the island
Until this morning when a friend let us know
She’d moved to Kefalonia for summer work.
My wife suggested a recount.
I also was tempted by her Trumpian solution;
But look, I reasoned, keeping the roof above our heads seems wise,
Saving pennies for tomorrow’s sunny days.
And there’s mum, always,
Who clings while fancying letting go her cold Kent coast.
Damn reason, my wife whispered;
Imagine Ithaka’s calm and warm embrace,
And the old fort at Assos offering coffee-kisses,
The endless ferries pirouetting us to sapphire shores,
And Greeks breathless from our tall son’s beauty.
I know I see I feel the winds she mentioned,
Know swallows patrol the beach below Spartia
And a restaurant worker eucharists a bucketful of scraps
For stray fat cats to feast upon in peace
Behind the little chapel.
Il Borgo waits below Agios Georgios
Where we sat once in moonlight
Watching married couples saying nothing, eating less,
And well-dressed English families balance sunglasses on four slicked heads,
Spreading their elbows, spearing food at claimed tables meant for ten.
As roadside honey kiosks close for lunch
My mother sits in England wishing to have her time over,
Bed-bound with regret, old bones, and pancreas untamed,
Having never seen a shaded courtyard in Argostoli full of tortoise amid an
Awning cry of joy as a child falls in love with shell and bright black eyes.
My mother complains of what is wrong
Not what is right and as she breathes and swells and dies
Widows paddle to float to swim away from cobalt coves
And I want to ask my wife why wouldn’t I vote, too, for sanctuary
If ever given the chance of choice?
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Poetry in this post: © Antony Osgood
Published with the permission of Antony Osgood