Untitled 2 Poem by Michael Ó Domhnaill

Decaying pavement, Decaying iron

in front of the shops

Decaying people haunt this

solipsistic squalor.


Someday I'll fight my way out-

Maybe today it comes to fruition.


I can't stand to see them walk by:

in an unceasing parade.

Wipe the sweat away;

Call out blank contagion.

Must halt this discordant cascade.


What motivates the laughter?

Where do they find the will

to lightness?

There's an antagonism provoked unknowingly…


I stand stiff

in a corroded cage.


My eyebrows corrode

My forehead corrodes

My thumb corrodes

My feet corrode

My tongue corrodes

The metal solidifies

My eyes oxidize

while everyone dances

around me

with levity