Glenine Poem by Matt Mooney

High tailing it in high doh
half-trotting it to Glenine
towards the airy mountain
on the crooked cow track
up through grazing fields
leachtáns dotting the route
rutted through sheep gaps
barefoot bonded siblings
straight after hay making
to the winding river bend
for a quick dip to cool off
from summer heat waves
in its inviting black pools
in the shade of the grove
drying out without towels
by a simple helter skelter
up a hill racing to the top
light breezes in our faces
tumbling back intoxicated.