Barm brack buttered heavy on both sides,
topped with salty, smoked rasher backs.
Glacial drumlins divvying up the countryside,
so no walk's ever easy.
Family flit familiarly in and out of view:
they all grew up so fast.
A donkey's bray for an alarm clock -
not that you ever wanted to sleep.
To weep where Wilde went wandering and
to think where Joyce wrote thoughts.
A visit to old Drumcliff again and eat poulet half-portions:
let Benbulben watch the dead.
Smelling the spread muck on the way to school.
Meditating with Aurelius at lunch.
And the old Egyptian pot's crack against a bastard's head -
even though it was never painted.
On Monk's Hill, in ascetic repose, lie the angels in wait
for my solemn return.
A grandiose wedding at a castle wherein
no king or queen resided.
Switching off the modern times
to light the sky with diamonds.
A caramel-on-white fluff pup
who ran as fast as lightning.
The boys of the auld republic who long
sold their soapboxes for nappies.
"STOP THE STRIP SEARCHES AT MAGHABERY"
painted white on a grassy hillside.
The loveliest minted lamb chops roasted
black in an oven on Sunday...
A teetering pile of cigarette ash guided
graceful across to the fireplace.
A silken soft hand, with the wrinkly skin pulled
up into a peak, gently falling.
A boiled egg in a mug with bit of sliced pan:
such was the true genteel supper.
The only man in town who could answer a question
on University Challenge.
A request, at a funeral, that his right hand be cover
for the fingers missing from the left.
Running in fear from my very first room from a
bat flapping 'round in the corner.
Finding her writhing in pain and frustration, after
standing on a wasp in the kitchen.
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