BY THE SEA WITH ONE LEGGED ANNE.

[dadio]

Benedict wheeled Anne
out the back gate
of the nursing home.

The sea was calm,
the tide was out.
He pushed her wheelchair
along the path by the beach.

He could smell the salt
in the air, the mild breeze
through his well kempt hair.

She sat with her hands in her lap;
she wore a blue skirt, her one
leg showed from knee down.

You’re not a very exciting pusher
of wheelchairs are you, she said.
My old gran could push me quicker.

I don’t want you falling out, Benedict said.
Don’t be a fucking weed, Kid,
push me; I want the air in my face,
the wind up my nose, she said,
grabbing the arms of the chair
and shaking them. So he pushed
her quicker, his puny arms giving
it all they could, his legs like frail
pistons moving quickly onward.

That’s it, she bellowed, faster,
faster, Kid, get those lazy legs
of yours bloody moving.

He pushed harder and gathered
speed, his hands holding on
to the handlebars for dear life.

They had covered a good distance
in a short time and he had to take
a break for breath. What’s a matter
got a puncture? she said. No, he said,
out of breath. Well bloody rest then, Kid.

He turned the wheelchair round
to face the sea. Then stood beside
her looking out at the horizon.
The blue sky, grey clouds, gulls
in the air. This is the life, Kid, she
bellowed This is fucking living.

He said nothing; her language
stung his ears. His mother would
have washed his mouth out
with soap for saying such.

There were people on the sands;
some in deckchairs, some standing
gazing out to sea; kids with buckets
and spades making sand castles,
some swimming, some throwing
a ball to each other. Look at that fat tart
over there with her swimsuit on,
Anne said, pointing to a woman
standing with a man on the sea’s edge,
bet they had to pour her into that,
she added. Benedict said nothing.

He looked down at Anne’s one leg
sticking out of her blue skirt.
She looked up at him. Help me up
and out, she said. He took her hands
and pulled her upwards and she
swayed slightly, but then managed
to stand erect on her one leg,
the wheelchair behind her.

Should have brought my bloody
crutches, she said. Sorry, he said,
didn’t know you wanted to get out.
You’ll just have to hold me up then
won’t you, she said. She put her right
arm around his shoulder and he let go
of her hands. There we go; you can be
my crutch, she said. He could feel her
arm about his shoulder, her weight on him.

You’re a good mate, Kid, she said.
She kissed his cheek. None of those
nursing sister would have wheeled me
out along here not for all the bloody
rosaries in Rome, she said. He smiled.

He could feel the damp patch of skin
where her lips had been. They stood
gazing out at the sea together, she swayed
slightly on her one leg, he sensed her
nearness; wanting to be stronger,
he stood firmer, his feet planted deeper
in the sand. Then he sensed her stump
beneath her skirt, rub gently against his hand.