In a small field they are dancing
Like the apes from The Jungle Book
Burned red by the high noon sun.
The field is all shapes and flags.

Abandoned sunglasses crunch underfoot.

On a ramp, the clank and thud of
Skaters performing jumps and turns
To the sound of a commentary as
Alien to me as the shipping forecast.

“Tailwhip on the spine,” to, “Portland, slight or moderate.”
Sounds bleed in from all directions
Until everything is dizzying and non-stop,
Until everything becomes an art form.

Words and Pictures by Ric at the Guernsey Festival of Performing Arts 2011 (Saturday 2nd/ Sunday 3rd July)


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