NUANCES OF FEAR

Out walking in a village street yesterday I met
a young woman leading a frisky colt who was backing
and shying as if spooked by ghosts. ‘It’s puddles,’
she explained, ‘He’s afraid of puddles.’ She laughed
but I thought he must be terrified of that rival horse
in his own reflection, and the unfathomable depths.

You are like the colt, not yet knowing what to fear,
so: you do not have to be frightened of hairdryers,
loud noises, wolves under beds, balloons, or people
dressed as Peter Rabbit. Scorpions yes, but spiders,
bees, snakes and sharks not as much as you’d imagine.
Mosquitoes, dogs and humans are deadlier. Not thunder,
but its electric mother, lightning. Avoid dark alleys
and bullies if you can; be wary of strangers, but
then how will you be warmed by their kindness?

I’d love to say don’t be scared of looking foolish,
but that takes sixty years to learn. For now leave
fear about the drowning and scorching of your world
to me. I have enough for both of us. When I’m too
voiceless to protest, too old to carry a placard,
I’ll hand it to you like a baton or perhaps a fiery sword,
and you can run in my stead. We will defy
the politicians with lies for hair, shout down
fearfulness itself with tongues of flame.