The Men in Black

Reflecting with sober adult reason

I should call them hallucinations

for I know I was ill with fever.

A child near death,

time slowing, endowing the air with a thickness

creating a swimming sensation.

Veils of soft incandescent multicoloured nylon

surrounding, allied,

coupled with, encompassing me,

dulling my perceptions,

floating before my eyes in waves

that resonate at every gesticulation...

Watching a play

aware I am one of the actors.

The men in black standing by me at the foot of the stage,

by my grandmother’s bed,

the doctor’s surgery,

hospital ward.

I told no-one for I knew they wouldn’t understand

them or the others.

So many other people around my bed.

Dressed in various attire from different eras of time

they stood silent, solemn, august

conveying dissociated interest.

But even now when I bring them to mind

those moments are more tangible

than any waking memory.

Then my son was killed.

His son was only three.

He asked me

“Who were those men dressed in black daddy went away with?”