By The Atm Poem by Matt Mooney

At four pm waiting your turn,
standing by the ATM;
as if etched on the cut stone
of the Bank of Ireland,
fixed against the future,
hair shaped hat of bright green
hugging your head;
snug in your black mac,
your back against the wall
to let the New Year pass
on its second day in town.

Vulnerable exposé from where
I'm waiting in the Square,
warm in the car-
wondering what's the secret
in your sudden look at me
in the shivering cold out there,
revealing with a single smile
the hidden power
that's yours and mine
with plenty left to spare
for those for whom we care.
and all because of your delay
by the ATM today
at four pm, I must confess again
that I love you. Je t'aime.