Visit

Passing the barracks

in your dad’s old car,

I hit the mother of all speed-bumps.

 

I thought of your ma

kicking my chicken across the floor

(you’d said)

 

for making you mortal

and overdue

(you were five weeks late);

 

and not attending mass

since we’d met,

which was worse.

 

Bin lids were clanging

up on Derry Beg,

(once for a raid, twice for a riot).

 

Scouring the streets

for words that rhymed with home,

not bomb.

 

The sofa- jury stirred when I came in.

The TV was in flames

from some disaster movie.

 

When the Anthem played,

you upped and fled,

leaving us with the Queen.

 

As I gazed at the box, I sensed

that champagne that night

was probably out of the question.