It is where I went,
when the pubs closed.
Just by the bridge was
weir, noisy, but I tolerated
the river in all her moods.
At least, while the effects
of the Guinness lingered.
There, was a sense of freedom,
something I never possessed.
Even the driftwood was going
somewhere and I not capable
of going home.
White swans came by when the
town slept, cautiously moving
on the still pools at the opposite
bank.
Envious of such serenity,
I questioned, their reason,
for coming up the Blackwater,
when the pubs closed!
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 9:48 AM UTC
It is where I went,
when the pubs closed.
Just by the bridge was
weir, noisy, but I tolerated
the river in all her moods.
At least, while the effects
of the Guinness lingered.
There, was a sense of freedom,
something I never possessed.
Even the driftwood was going
somewhere and I not capable
of going home.
White swans came by when the
town slept, cautiously moving
on the still pools at the opposite
bank.
Envious of such serenity,
I questioned, their reason,
for coming up the Blackwater,
when the pubs closed!
The River Blackwater flows through
Mallow in County Cork Ireland. It
is where I used to go when I was in
an opiated stupor after a gallon of
Guinness while I was serving my
alcoholic apprenticeship in the 70s.
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