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A Man Weeps

A Man Weeps

In Finnegan’s eyes you dare not see
Beyond what throbs in there.
Nor when the Guinness lonely nights.
Rent hugged hard fistful sheets.

Thoughts maudlin wrench at his constant pain.
Made worse by the love described.
In radio lonely lovelorn ballad songs.


None mention Moll, by name of course.
Or his kids that shopped with Ma.
That day just time ago when the high street’s crimsoned puddle ponds
flecked the acrid smoke of hate.
The bomb set off from the lick of clickerty switch.
By so-called ‘freedom men’, vengeful in their covert might.


Glass from neon shop fronts in their twisting glimpsoled dance,
lanced the drizzled air.
In the secondless whoosh Moll nearly touched her youngest’s hand
before their world disploded.

Most of their bits were found………..


Finnegan was a gentle man, he once believed in God.
Took the kids to Sunday school the week,
before they filled the yellow tagged bags.
“No, they weren’t hurt” he whispers to Scratchy the cat
who pads his lap with unheard feline purrs.


“Dear God”, he says again, as oceans more stain
the crumpled photo in which Moll smiles.






Mike Davis

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Comments (1)

i love this poem. very robert frostish but different in a better way. very detailed and descriptive, but just mysterious enough to make you want to hear the rest of the story.i give it a 10 and a half. very good!