Playpens Poem by Michael Ó Domhnaill

Playpens



A baby cries in the traffic.



Headlights expose a full closet,

outside of time.



A man needs crutches to find his pride.

A woman needs tears to find her innocence.



We are all so damned exposed.

Glass flowers, meticulous in defiance,

melt in a haze of surrender.



Possibilities run out-

We die for lack of reasons to live.



Dreams of crushing weight, I think

it's universal.



Blind bare the blind,

the Phoenix can't find the sea.

The playpens corrode.

Nothing's worse than being free.