I’m Squinting
With my glasses lost again
But I know enough to be struggling to see
God,but will I ever stop the drink
Once and for all?
Today I saw a Belfast man
Marching the road
Collarete on in the sun
The traditional
Tribal triumph
Seen in his swagger and away of shoulders.
But this is Spain
And the collarete was Instead ONCE
(Organización National de Ciegos España)
Tickets
Orange and yellow tickets to be sold
Their luck tacked to his waistcoat.
His swagger and away
Sadly as a result of the twisted racking cracking
Of his body’s being.
It spent moving
His spine choked frame in the ways of his days
Him I squinting saw
Not him then
Thran
With the self blinded
Hurray of the Cyclops.
Last time at home
A fella:
Brother to one in the company
Complained to the slow barman
-I’ll get you done!
But the bar was packed
And the barman
(Who I too, thought slow)
Was having none of his old craic.
-Get me done?
He hollered
-Get me done?
-You can fuck off,
Yer barred!
Old Belfast bashing
Hard man against the new.
The silence of naked fear
That such a statement
might once have entailed
Bloody death or at least a beating
Was gone
The bouncer gleefully bounced the
Soul scarred, jail tattooed poor twerp
Drinkless
Out into the night.
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