Bull And Bullock Poem by Donal Mahoney

The other night abed, Father,
propped upon an elbow, dropped
and died. Earlier that week, Mother
gave me Anthony to hold when
Father threw a fist, missed

and bellowed through the door.
I did not see the biggest of them
bear him back. But at the wake
they spoke of how he ran,
fell across a fence and swayed there.

I was in another room,
giving Mother Anthony to hold,
and I remember how,
clairvoyantly for once,
she wept there.