Ozymandias #9 Poem by Francie Lynch

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

… I'll book a flight then...

This time,
I'll sail on a freighter cabin,
Back,
Across the Atlantic,
Have a B&B waiting
In a familiar town,
In County Cavan.

I'll visit with my Uncle,
Drink pot-boiled water
From tea-ringed mugs.
I'll pour out my questions,
Wear an extra layer
To stay the chill,
Wear muddy wellies
On a cement floor,
In his soot-walled room,
Behind thesky-blue, wood rot door;
With the road encroaching,
As never before.
A light dangles from the end of a cord,
The tap is just outside the door,
A four burner propane stove
Provides heat to boil and cook.
The Immaculate Heart is missing,
Leaving a clean rectangle
On the wall, in the nook.

The thistle encrusted lane
Leads up a hill, from behind,
To a natural well,
Constantly filled with the hill's libations,
Where animals watered and grazed.
Beyond, hedgerows of bramble, and
Walls of stone delineate the fields,
Seven in all, they called their own.
But seven children can't stay home.
So, the youngest was the chosen one,
Now living there all alone.

There' s no cold ash
In the open hearth,
Where generations
Died and birthed.
Despite the depth of the walls,
The rusted roof and lifeless stalls,
The whitewash too
Will bleed to earth,
Onto the tumulus of dirt.

... then, I will book a flight...