Donal Mahoney Poems

It's not de rigueur
to believe he's there
behind the sun,
the stars, the moon
...

Back in 1957, kissing Carol Ann behind the barn in the middle of a windswept field of Goldenrod with a sudden deer watching was something special, let me tell you. Back then, bobby sox and big barrettes and ponytails were everywhere.

Like many farmers, Carol Ann's father had a console radio in the living room, and every Saturday night the family would gather ‘round with bowls of ice cream and listen to The Grand Ole Opry. It was beamed "all the way" from Nashville I was told more than once since I was from Chicago and sometimes wore a tie so how could I know.
...

Light ambrosia of the sun
is over all of her.
She is shy
...

Elmer's an old stag now
shedding antlers
snorting among the trees
...

On that train an hour ago,
I saw a teacher I had years ago
but he did not see me.
A proper man was he
...

He doesn't cry about it
anymore. No tears
in years. On occasion, though,
those who know him
...

You were a little older than three
the day your father taught you
how to pee, standing up.
...

Father Brennan had been pastor of St. Ignatius Church for 20 years, a long time for any one priest to remain at one parish. Usually the archbishop would transfer a pastor after he had served seven years. By that time, parishioners might have needed a fresh face and fresher homilies and the pastor, truth be told, might like to see a few new faces himself in the pews every Sunday morning.

That wasn't the case with Father Brennan, however. St. Ignatius was a parish in decline in terms of parishioners and he loved those who were still there, the ones who hadn't moved or passed away. There were only about 60 people left now, most of them widows and widowers as well as one nice elderly maiden who had never married, Margaret Mary Kelly, who studied early in life to become a nun but ultimately decided that life as a nun was not for her. She moved back home to care for her aging parents and did a fine job. Her father died at 84 and her mother at 81.
...

A moment ago,
in a flicker of pique,
with a wave of the hand,
I dispersed them.
...

Through the nursery glass
Carlos Montero peeks at Consuela,
his twelfth, in the arms of a nurse.
...