The year I would turn nine
Charlie Kelly threw his pint over Paul Brennan
in the opening scenes of a new Irish drama
called Fair City. The 25th Dáil was dissolved.
Ireland got its 1st lotto millionaire.
There was talk of mining for gold in Mayo
and Christy O’Connor Jnr
won the Ryder Cup for Europe.

(Years later playing Trivial Pursuit
one of the questions wanted to know:
what profession gets the Ryder Cup? —
a cousin from Carlow answered; prostitutes.)

I was growing through 3rd class
St. Brendan’s National School; Loughrea —
on the other side of Tiananmen Square
another student stood up
as the Guildford Four walked free
after 14 years innocently incarcerated.

While in Germany, a wall
that had been built to divide: separate, fell.
Pushed over by people. While Hungry, Poland
and Czechoslovakia: all said: enough.
The Russians left Afghanistan and in South Africa
Apartheid began to crumble. Pity
it was allowed to even begin.
Iran was ******* about some book
and on Christmas Day in Romania
Mr and Mrs Ceausescu were executed.

In 1989, the Church of Ireland allowed female priests.
96 people died at Hillsborough.
Haughey was Taoiseach,
Mr. Heaney was conferred
as Professor of Poetry at Oxford
and we qualified for Italia 90.

I was 9 and the only thing I remember
about that year; I fell out of a tree
and broke my arm.

I can't carry the worlds weight on my shoulders
I'm the monkey and you're my master
You keep me chained to this ***** grinder
Turning the crank you're my biggest debt collector
How much do i owe you? I cant seem to remember

And I can't keep dancing
Picking up change that people throw
And I cant keep trying
To squeeze blood from a stone

Please can you spare some change?
Any amount will do
You and me we are the same
I'm a stranger just like you

I'm gonna purchase my ticket
Down at the liquor store
I'm gonna sail the amber seas
'Til i reach the floor

Baby please stop pulling these reigns
Can't you see that I've already stopped
You've sewn all of my seeds
And then you burned all the crops

Ending each night with lethal doses
Between the rubber hoses
And the ****** noses
Baby tell me how am i to pretend
It's all wine and roses

I traded all my dollars for
A hot shot in the rain
And you know you should never trust
A man who's wearing
A ball and chain

Just spare me a pittance
You can hold onto your pity
You know one of the days
I'll be a grease spot on this city

And if i died
Two weeks from today
You can rest easy knowing
I wanted it that way

i'm going to die here, i know i will,
they change their scope of helping me,
every time i slide farther down the hill,
"you can have this pill at a certain time,"
"NO! Wait! We've changed our mind,"
"you can have it at this new time, how kind!"
"just make sure there's someone on who can tell the time.."

and if i lay here waiting, for what i may or may not get,
my hands will slowly tremble and my mind so deeply frets,
all alone in this wrinkled bed clothes, no one sees me yet,
but now the nurses have come to me with a little more regret:
"the doctor says you'll now have to wait 7 more hours for relief,
it seems he doesn't like being awaken at nighttime when he sleeps."

so, i get to feel my tears build up behind my bloodshot eyes,
no one is here at all to help me understand just why.
you should see me now alone trying so hard now not to cry,
all i feel is stunned, cold shock and this feeling that i will die
--i'm going to die here, bit by bit, inside out and all alone,
i don't know what to do or say, or how to make last atone,
for all i've done in my life, that has brought me to this place,
to compose this death-wish poem to read as tear-drops paint my face.

but, for now with nothing else left to do in my hospice room,
i do the last thing that i can do the best, just write and wait for doom.

is there anyone out there?
help, help, help me, i beg and try to plead!
will anyone please come here,
hold and hug me in my need?

i'm  going to die here,
and i'll be all by myself,
left alone like a broken knick-knack
on a dusty shelf.
___