Poem By Seán O Muiríosa
The ladder was located conveniently in the lane
As the neighbours had foreseen some work.
It then placed to our side wall, up and over,
Down onto the wheelie bins, an easy land.
Are these physical structures nothing?
The intruders had breached the membrane
Of something not easily made. And there,
In a yard of my childhood they dared walk
Over tarmac where I played football, as
An imaginary football star, under an orange sun.
The lock of the door was easily cut out in the end.
Slickly opened into our back hallway
Where my young sister had once played
With the dogs on the smooth stone tiles,
As happy as a child should be, eternally.
That hall; a place of argument with my mother;
The route to the rest of our current lives;
Our business only, until –
Gates scaled, door smashed; all quite so eerie,
And too simple – until the detectors did their job.
A start forward like the sudden break of tyres
On a slimy and uncertain road; necks
Strained forward from beds. Something’s wrong
When amusing dreams end so sharply
With ringing, loud ringing. An alarming saviour.
The house I professed to hate so plainly at first;
You have to laugh, even a forced one.
Any will do when such a matter comes into view:
How clearly we see in the dark sweat of night.
Well, that’s something, after all.