23 February 2017

Swell of the Liffey go,
and away my soul within its waves go.
Tobacco sour turns into tobacco nice
Wave my hair down days
later and I smell it still as I go.
Tobacco smell and North Beach
sand do not leave easily,
and nor would I grant them easy leave to go.

To Dublin City where I met my one,
To Dublin North to consecrate
the meeting of joined words.

Liffey swell
and Nicotine sing.
Shared drinks unite
locked in with trad band and we.

His greyed hair.
Mine blue eyes.
Alone he sits,
with thoughts within.
Dublin man, Dublin true.
Chasing current politics from
de Valera and Collins,
fifty year on
since tainted treaty.

Centrist right governments, Dublin
man says. To my left he sits and
thinks of changed governments.
He’ll vote now Sinn Fein but Adams,
he says, has got to go.

Fifty years of Liffey swells,
of broken hearts and thrown rings in its
beds does it keep.
Fifty years of same Fáill and Gael.
But Dublin stays and so it goes,
with my troubled Dublin man and I
go.

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