here it is and all:
\nit’s Friday
\nand a girl in a shop smiled at me today
\nbut for some reason
\nthat charm
\nwon’t chase the feeling
\nof something more. I’m back
\nin Dublin again, no more
\nof Canada, no more smoking outside bars
\nuntil I get an “Irish, you’re Irish?
\noh my god, I was there once, I
\nLOVE the Irish”. now
\nI’ll have to rely on
\nmy natural charm
\ngod only help me\u2014<\/p>\n
there should be a law
\nthat says
\nyou can’t lose the feeling
\nof having an accent
\nafter you go home. if that girl in the shop
\nwho was Irish
\nspent any time with me
\nshe would soon
\nget bored
\nI feel\u2014I sleep too much,
\nwatch too much tv,
\ndrink in the evenings until
\nmy cheeks are more blushed than the sky,
\nand earlier,
\nI look at people too long, enjoy silence too much
\nand self-pity
\ntoo often. there should be a law
\nthat says people can’t be disappointed
\nin coming home. the best thing I can imagine
\nis her going to bed with me once
\nopening like a book
\nto someone’s favourite page
\nand then going away
\nand not calling me. my imagination doesn’t stretch
\nany longer
\nto long dates in the park, to conversations about work,
\nto children,
\nor anything anymore. I became a child again
\nwhen I came home. people do.<\/p>\n
she still sold me the wine though. a youth
\ncan laugh. and she would walk home
\nfeeling foolish about things
\nthinking about me
\nbeing clumsy in bed
\nand about better men
\nwho know to do more
\nthan whisper in her ear
\nin an Irish accent.
\n <\/p>\n
my hope <\/p>\n
is that something new will come:
\nsome ring,
\nsome whirl,
\nsome whipping fire. my hope<\/p>\n
is that spirit
\nwill spit into life,
\nthat music will whistle<\/p>\n
and pleasant will land,
\nthat actors will drown in butts
\nor die onstage. and we will drink wine,<\/p>\n
if 2 of us,
\nor beer
\nif 3 of us,
\nor anything
\nif more come
\nhopelessly
\nrapping the windows. my hope<\/p>\n
is that thousands will come,
\nand thousands will,
\nstumbling over bridges,
\nbathed in colour,
\nsmiling with drunk and happy fire.
\nbut of those thousands
\nhow many
\nwill be worth a second to talk to,
\na second to say something
\nmaybe worth talking about.<\/p>\n
my hope is that it’s one or two of them,
\nor maybe 3,
\nsauntering
\nlike donkeys
\nthrough roaring crowds,
\nfrothing with beer,
\ndressed
\ndamn silly
\nin silly
\ngreen hats.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
D.S. MAOLALAI<\/strong> has been nominated for Best of the Web and twice for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden<\/em> (Encircle Press, 2016) and Sad Havoc Among the Birds<\/em> (Turas Press, 2019).<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" My natural charm here it is and all: it’s Friday and a girl in a shop smiled at me today but for some reason that charm won’t chase the feeling of something more. I’m back in Dublin again, no more… Continue Reading
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