Tall
ships
broadcast
on TV.
What was I doing,
five hundred years since Columbus,
on a Liverpool roof looking over the Mersey
talking to that man with angry eyes - President Aristide of Haiti in exile?
'There is nothing to celebrate, Haitians should mourn.'
Columbus was sailing again.
Was I Ferdinand,
King of Spain,
sharing
the
guilt?

Tall
ships
set sail,
blown away.
Extinguished candles,
far beyond camera vision.
The end of the show - televisions off in time for tea.
The priestly president helicoptered away by men in black with vigilant eyes.
At the pierhead, work over, my sails billowed,
sailor-thrilled, the wind at my back.
What was I doing?
Looking West
beyond
the
guilt.