Rotor Blades
I’m rolling a cigarette as I walk up from the docks in Ajaccio Corsica past the market selling fish and meat & the smart port terminus thinking this is the place where Napoleon was born and wondering if the old guy in flat cap shades & open-necked shirt sipping a cappuccino at a café table is Jean-Baptiste Jerome Colonna boss of the local mafia while the tall broad leafed tops of Mediterranean trees line the boulevard and soft pastel coloured old buildings rise up into the sunlight & a small helicopter buzzes overhead & lands at a villa on the cliffs above the town & I wonder if that’s you up there & realise it is a perfect allegory of our relationship your Yin to my Yang your Taurus to my Scorpio you soaring in the cloudless sky in a chopper with the whip of the rotor blades & crackle of radio static from a headset in your ears as you gaze at the red rocky outcrops of the island & the sunlight dancing on the lapping sea tops in the harbour while I walk hands-in-pockets head-down through the backstreets with the Unione Corse.
* Jon Tait is a former sportswriter and was the press officer at now defunct Gretna FC in the Scottish League.
