Boysenberry Eyes Awhirl Poem by Donal Mahoney

Boysenberry Eyes Awhirl



A Caseworker's Nightmare

In a corner of the room
scribbles of loose yarn soar,
interweave and dive

like coasters at a carnival.
At dusk rats slither from the drain
and barrel through the room

stirring atom puffs of dust
beneath the paper sprung
tongue out from each wall.

Tails wound tight, the rats
skate their figure eights
between the table legs and swirl.

They pause to supper on salami bits,
gherkin nodes, crusts of ancient bread.
At dawn, with boysenberry eyes awhirl,

they belly back and leap atop the sink.
Popping sounds announce
the drain has called them home.

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Fifty years ago, the author was fresh out of graduate school with a masters in English and looking for a job as an editor or writer. But jobs were scarce. So he took a job as social caseworker in the Cabrini-Green Housing Projects in Chicago. He was assigned to two gigantic high rises with 458 client families living in the two buildings. He was naive and as white as a sheet. His clients were various shades of brown. He accepted them and they accepted him. But his imagination, spiked by the plight of many of his clients, resulted in this poem. The sad thing is that 50 years later life is no better for many minorities and they also lack one thing we had back then-hope. But hope seemed to die with the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Some hope may have returned with the election of Barack Obama but not to the same degree. And the economy for minorities would seem to be worse in many respects.
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