Cucurucu, a poem

Illustration by Aimee Lew

---

Cucurucu

Winter's weakening grip slips into night 

As we journey together,

Tabs under tongues, Tennants on side tables.

Slurred colours pop and shake

A dazzling beat on the ceiling,

Lost lights beyond the firth pulsing,

Reflecting the surface of my heartbeat,

In and out in time to the treacled music 

Our eyes locked, minds gridlocked. 

We plaster prosopons to our faces,

Cigarette smoke squeezing out of mouth holes.

A soft guitar stumbles into life, echoing the mood, 

From the frozen smile or frown you sing along;

"Cucurucu, Cucurucu."

Repeated points, justifications, defences, reasons,

Anything to make you want me in return.

A wall begins at our feet while

Forlorn traces of smoke stifle the air.

Slurred colours pop and shake, 

Praying that my mind will be still,

Whole.

Caught by a storm in a dense, silent forest,

Desperate shouts thrown back in your face, hearing

Nothing else but the sneering wind.

The moment is gone.

gulls screaming at the sea

shivering winds from iron clouds

abandoned jumper just out of reach

enjoying the numbness for a while

I'm charged with always thinking back.

As the colours finally begin to recede into greyscale,

The funked buildings stop waving and shivering,

And I surface, gasping,

Both waving and drowning.

---

Harry Clough is a nature poet at heart and is never far from his 1959 edition of Andrew Young’s Quiet as Moss. He is a masters student in Creative Writing at the University of Edinburgh.