The dustbin lids
Are frosted over
Last night I watched
Indecent Proposal
Is our relationship
Truly at an end
Isn’t this what
We always envisage
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
The dustbin lids
Are frosted over
Last night I watched
Indecent Proposal
Is our relationship
Truly at an end
Isn’t this what
We always envisage
Did I leave you this way
With the promise of a future
With that as the ending to the day
Did you believe any of those words
Though didn’t you say
There are all kinds of relationships
And now
With light through both windows
I may as well predict anything I wish
Exquisite I think I said
More than once
If deeper truths be known
Stepping onto the ferry
Having spent the night
In a roadside hotel
Where wagons continually sped by
Stepping off the ferry
With miles of open road ahead
All the way from Dublin to Killarney
From the blue sea to the Black Mountain
Stepping into the bars where tourists dwell
Also where the national anthem
Is observed at closing time
As in the days of old
Stepping out into the countryside
To take a ride in a pony and trap
Being told true and tall stories, by the man
Who had stepped out, and then stepped back
One afternoon
Yes one
Among
More than
Twenty-five-thousand
On the waterfront
Waiting for the ferry
Taking tea and burnt cake
In the lady from Vienna’s cafĂ©
One afternoon
Yes one
Among
Less than
Twenty-thousand
The math is difficult
One life to the next
Waiting for forgiveness
As I read the text
Holding together
For fear
Of falling apart
Old shoes of leather
With insoles
For making a new start
Witness the heather
Under blue skies
To practice the art
Doubtful as ever
Yet released here
To play the part
Way less than clever
The solitude
Stays in the cart
Now and then and forever
Reconciled
Only the truth to impart
That this time
Is that of all time
Here alongside The River Dart