Francie Lynch Poems
|1121.||Death Is All Around||8/6/2015|
|1122.||I Have To Pee||1/19/2015|
|1123.||The Dogs' Days Of Winter||1/13/2015|
|1124.||The Leprechaun's Ball||3/17/2015|
|1125.||Active Vs. Passive||1/18/2015|
|1128.||How I Measure Time||4/22/2015|
|1130.||Elegy For Dead Poets||9/26/2015|
|1132.||The Lads Are Streaming Porn||1/18/2015|
|1133.||The Flight Ahead Of Me||4/1/2015|
|1134.||My Poem Is My True Selfie||6/10/2014|
|1135.||Not All Fathers Are Dads||6/2/2016|
|1137.||Were There Five?||1/31/2014|
|1138.||Mary Jane Died Last Night||5/20/2015|
|1139.||A Child Is Born||12/18/2015|
Comments about Francie Lynch
A Child Is Born
I don't know destitute.
I could use the bathrooms
If I eat there.
I'm no refugee.
Neither are you.
We have computers, not canvas.
I warmed up the coffee today
And the dishwasher needs to go through
For the third time this week.
Homeless: We have them.
Poor: We'll always have them.
Hungry: Look to the soup kitchens.
Sick: The gurneys are lined in the halls.
Death: It's all around, and increasing.
And still, in that tent or Uber taxi
A child is born to change all this.
Sliding Into Home
From here they filled the sidewalk,
Three abreast, heading east towards the corner
With their balls and sticks.
The flankers often turned their heads centre.
They'd return with
Bravado and shirts around their waists.
The stories I would hear, or read.
I recall Charlie beyond the rail and altar