'VERTICAL HOLD': POEM ABOUT MY DAD'S ANGER WHEN THE TV PICTURE WAS AILING...

Vertical Hold

“Hell’s Bells…”

From the loft

As he adjusted an aerial,

It tickled me

Actually,

Though I knew he was mad…

The bellowing 

Continued

As he enquired, demanded;

It scared me,

Certainly, 

Though I knew he was my dad…

I stood in fear

At the foot of the stair,

Nervous eyes on the mirror,

Mom reclined on her chair.

She was uncertain what she should say,

As the vertical hold lost control,

So she muttered, “That’s better…”

As the images continued to roll.

The go-between took the collective flack

From indecision and vexation,

To my father’s impatience and temper,

Aligned to his vicious frustration.

“Bloody Hell…”

His distant aggression

Rasped from the rafters,

Which worried me,

Truthfully,

Though I knew his mistake…

The reliance

Burdened 

My mother, timid,

Which saddened me,

Definitely,

Though I refereed for her sake…

Pete Ray

If the television picture was poor and rolling and not fixed by dad’s leaning across the set to adjust, it was a climb into a loft, a difficult stretch and communicating with the lesser lights downstairs. Mom was torn between not getting it right and annoying him by delaying his sojourn there. I was on the stairs, attempting to see a reflection of the TV in a mirror but basically reliant upon mom’s hesitancy. Crazy days.

YEAR 6: MY TEACHER GOT MARRIED...

ON A TRAIN TO PLYMOUTH FOR MY SUMMER HOLIDAY: IN SCHOOL UNIFORM...

AROUND 1965: MOM & DAD, ALSO DRESSED FOR THEIR SUMMER HOLIDAY...