Seán Walsh: Lance Ascending
LANCE ASCENDING…
Larry, eh… Lance was a pet name.
Ah, if ever there was a hard man!
Many’s the session we had in the old days –
Oh, what! ‘Gave it a lash!
No one ever thought he’d go on the dry,
make it to the other side of the street.
‘Few years ago now… Happy Christmas!
Lance holding on to the bar, langers.
‘Calls for a double, lets it back, passes out…
‘Woke the next day – or was it the day after? –
in the Quare Place…
This mad ould fella
at the side of his bed – starkers.
Wild eyes in a flushed face. Beard ‘n’ bristle.
Purring at him in a baby voice:
Hell-oooo! What did Santa bring you for Christmas?
‘Hasn’t had a drink since. Lance.
‘Dry as the Sahara, ’that day to this.
‘New man now. ‘Goes to A.A., ’regular.
‘The makings of him…
‘Wife doesn’t know herself.
‘Not that she sees that much of him! But still…
‘Knows where he is, when to expect him,
that he’ll be together when he shows.
That itself…. ‘Has to be a bonus…
And the odd time we bump into each other,
his form is better than ever. No more bullshit.
And he says – giving me the eye –
If I can do it, anyone can…
Oh, he was a gonner. Well on the way – out.
And then.. then… Santa Claus gave him sobriety.
Down the chimney, huh?.. Salvation in a stocking…
‘At me to go along with him. An Open Meeting.
‘Don’t have to say a word. Just sit tight, take it in…
Well… Maybe… Some dark night.
‘Get there… walk in… ‘circle of strangers.
‘Tense among the walking wounded…
Listen to one, then another – men, women –
the old and the old-before-their-time –
tell how they came to on Skid Row,
struggled to their feet when the world
was ready to count them out…
Lemmings who turned – against all the odds –
to claw their way back up
the sheer face of a merciless cliff…
How did he manage it, Lance?
What was gifted to him?
What miracle was his, ongoing?..
I’m going to lick this, I really am!
I won’t let it best me!..
Quietly, at his side, a fellow climber:
On your own? Lance, you haven’t a hope!
Tell you what, though: we’ll do it together…
Shortly after putting this piece “out there”
a comment reached me, signed Kieran.
“I know well the madness
of the Walking Wounded –
‘ducking in and out of sobriety,
detoxing for a fortnight,
then bingeing for another eternity,
until by circumstance forced –
and physically crippled –
to quit again!
It’s a hellish ‘disease.’
I immediately checked out your other writings
and liked the open, honest and
uncomplicated nature of your style.
I will be keeping a keen eye out for
future postings.
Your imagery is clear and inspiring.
Good luck with everything.”