1
I wasn’t suppose to go this far,
my stop was Cavan but I fell asleep
now I’m in Belfast. ****,
next bus tomorrow.
Lucky I never leave home without it.
A room in the Europa —
watching a P.C version of Family Guy
for ****-sake, it’s 2am.
Halfway late to the station
Clint Eastwood grabs me outside H.M.V
tells me: Gran Tournio is out on DVD.
As the machine gargles my receipt,
the newest member claiming
to be the true voice of Northern Ireland’s people
spoke at the station. I felt so lucky,
because I would, later, find you.
2
It's half past eight. In this housing estate,
Dooradoyle, Limerick cars are stirring, going to work.
God I'm so ******. Spent the night watching
9/11 conspiracies, South Park and Family Guy.
I sent you a txt at five past one.
Wish I could have whispered it into your ear.
I know it will be hours before you wake.
The thing with having small arms —
it drives you to reach the top shelf.
The moment you were born, Charlie Lennon
composed The Dawn Chorus
to signal a day; glorious,
still far from over.
When I stay over, you’re 9ft away —
alone in another room. May as well
be a mile past the edge of the universe.
You give me your jumper to take to bed,
to touch, to smell. And again,
as I am leaving home; as now —
sober, on a bus back to Galway. It's raining,
but I'm in love with you.
3
Anyone sitting here?
5 minutes ago
we were thrusting in the toilets.
Our clothes take the stance
of opposing forces. Our alibi.
Tongues become txts.
I always have credit when in character.
With you beside me
I would **** half the people here,
friends and colleagues alike.
Beat them to death.
Cave in their heads with my fists,
stop when punching carpet —
just so the remaining half could see
how tender I can hold you.
Our eyes transfixed, unwilling
to focus on anything else —
the place could be burning down
and all the love letters wouldn’t change the fact
that I can not read and you can not write.
4
It’s something truly fantastic,
secretly held love —
pure ****** in ****** veins.
We came out
in McDonagh’s Fish and Chip shop.
Held hands above the table.
And lips. Some of the dinners
couldn’t care. Others said Uh …
and finished off their Haggis.
5
Having spent the past 3 hours
in this 1950’s spider-infested
green and white Telecom Eireann phone-box,
I have concluded that
you were a miserable ***** towards the end.
The passing headlights, blinkered by the rain
decrease the potential of my thumb:
I have 2 more hours to wait —
giving me time to reflect.
Furthermore, if I'd my entire life to live over,
despite the 2 restraining orders
and my car being crushed into a cube,
the only thing I'd change:
has not changed since I first told you;
then we held each other asleep
as one breath.
I still cry at night.
Nine years I had that car.
6
Back with Bús Éireann
trying not to fall asleep.
Again.
