In No Time Poem by Francie Lynch

I'll book freighter passage, back,
Across the Atlantic,
To the siren Island.

A freighter cabin,
And book a bed,
In a town in Cavan.

But not with Frank
On the farm.
I'll sit with him,
Pour questions out,
Drink pot-boiled water
From tea-ringed mugs;
Wear an extra layer
To keep warm;
And muddy wellies
On his cement floor,
In his soot-walled room,
Behind the rot-worn door,
Closer to the road
Than it was before.

There' s no cold ash
In the open hearth,
Where generations died and birthed.
It matters not
How thick his walls,
Roof and all
Will fall to earth.

... then, I will book a flight.

"I know an agent who knows your man
who has the machine to do the job... in no time."