Poem By Seán O Muiríosa
Four AM, and still nothing’s making sense,
my weary body peals itself from bed
pancake from the hot pan,
not quite burnt, but getting there.
I go to the window and fog it up,
the street lights reveal a coated ground.
Crushed diamonds of black, orange
and predominantly white, all shine.
If I don’t go out tonight I never will.
The artery of the nation’s pacing slow
tonight; I can stand there and not
be moved on.
I can stand here tonight and freeze
in my place, become street furniture.
Unusual antique of this town.
I know this and must move.
It’s far too cold.
Hollywood must have paid a visit.
I keep blinking but it still remains,
The pale moon on the horizon of the road.
Yes, it’s truly her
with that freakish stare. I cannot help it,
my pupils are stuck to this light.
A glaring beam, other worldly.
Dogs bark in the distance.
I blink what seems to be a night
to finding her screaming in my face,
Then all’s black
And there’s me at the window
peering through dense fog,
my presence shivering at diamonds
on the smooth road.