This one
drunk as a skunk.
This one
piss on his pants... embarrassed.
This one a Papist.
This one a Prod.
This one
an unmitigated bigot.
This one
a right racist.
This one
madly in love.
This one
lonely.
This one
puking in the loo.
This one
on the pull.
This one
buying cherry flavoured condoms.
This one
with the birth mark
splashed across half his face.
This one
yawning.
This one
with the shy smile.
This one
ordering a Horse’s neck.
“Make it quick! ”
Gulps.
Finishes it in one.
Orders another.
This one
going to the loo to escape
the next round.
No one paying
much mind
to the goals scored in silence
on the turned down telly
another dimension
a world away
background to their ordinary day.
People as noise
human white static.
Laughter exploding
here & there
in clusters.
The new barmaid looking flustered.
It is 2.30 by the clock on the wall.
It’s been 2.30 for hours.
No one’s noticed
the stopped clock.
All one now
as the bomb
...goes off.
******
DUTY
(for my old pal Al)
The child clasps
her father's hand
in hers
leading him
on to where the ice creams are.
He laughs
pulled along by her
eagerness.
A giant
lead by a dwarf.
But now
he must lie down
in the posture
of his death
as if he slept
the sky
a blue so still
not a breath
of wind
disturbs
the terrible howling
a child
looking for her hands.
The bomb
has done
its duty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
what a great ending! certainly caught me out. blew me away - seemed too punny to say.