Jim Poem by Joseph Enright

The word was whispered in my ear
'Come home, Jim is dead '

In a lonley field near the sea
The horse bolted
Tumbling him to the unyielding earth
Jim lay helpless
Staring at an angry sky.

His dog Bran
Ran
Into the kitchen
Tugging at Nellies apron
Frantic
Yelping
Pleading.

This man who drew
His living from barren earth
Enriched with seaweed
Hauled from a windswept shore
On the back of a donkey

This man was lifted skyward
To strange places
Amidst strangers.

This man, who cut turf
And carried it home
In horses cart
Dragged tree stumps
From soil to create on more square foot of land.

This man, who worked his harvest
From first light
To moonlit darkness.

This man who never drove car nor tractor
Extolled the virtues
Of horse ploughed land.
This man who cut hay and corn
With whetted scythe
Dug watery potatoes with gleaming spade
And wintered them under beds of straw.

This man, who on Sunday night
Precariously perched his peaked cap
Gravity defying, on his shaven head
Cycled three miles to the village pub
And cycled home again.

This man whose coarse calloused.hands
Gently handled cows teats
Coaxing hot nurishing milk
Into galvanised bucket
Oft times squirting me in the face
With well aimed stream of milk.
'Heh, heh, heh', hed cackle

This man
Married
Childless
Worried.
Who would cut the corn?
Who would save the hay?
Would the spuds be allright?

We returned this man of the land
To the land
In a grave next to his parents....