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Poetry
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| Poem's Lament | |
| By ailbhe | ||||||
| 26 April 2005 | ||||||
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A poem's lament. April blooms in Dublin for me, squat. They say that once I was a wild beat boy, that when I strode the length of the Grand Canal, fish kissed the soles of my feet, skyscrapers stared me square in the eye. That was a nice dream. . Truth be told, I was always this comical spawn of a mythical love-in, scrabbling in shallow mud for letters to slot together. If my gaze was met it was not with a giant's challenge, nor yet that of a knowledgeable fish, but only the eye of a discarded needle, spinning bicycle wheel, grinning, toothless doll's head.
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