Let's just suffer on page one
where the kid comes running in
covered head to foot in pigshit
the rain floor to ceiling in the big house
a veritable omnipresent waterfall
crying leaking or drowning from each eye
the long arms of despair
if that's what you call hopelessness
in deed fault and fear of recrimination
only the barn full of hay
dry at the back of his mind
but his feet wouldn't take him
page two the funeral
he's your cousin
and we'll buy some paint
while we're at it one five
gallon tin on each handle
we'll be weaving back in the dark
killed in The Troubles and found
floating face down where's
the despair now
with Uncle Chris on the table at the bell
singing I'll Take You Home Again Kathleen
not a dry eye in the house
Death far gone
and the rain abated
I was never one
page three for discriminating
between the death of her chicken
by stoning by my own hand
or Leary bloated up North
the cousin I never met
so whenever I found myself alone
say at the Danish fort
encircled by hawthorn blackthorn
and small oak up there
in the ancient enclave useless now
to man and beast
I thought of what came out of my aunt's mouth
and pictured Herself at the North Pole
Her foot pressed hard at the Serpent's throat
His eyes bulging like two moons
trying to break free
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