'Red Lights Were Snipers' Poem by Marty McKenna

red lights were snipers
and i was my grandfather
teaching his daughters
how, and what to shoot.

the green lights on the flats
were t.'s compensation; orange-
lit flats were wanderers;
the blue were the blue but
the white was a flag of peace

i had managed to protect again today;

green traffic lights, go;
reds stop. as i drove around
the view, i caught the rainbow
and rejoiced. other blackout
streets were my playground.

i whistled during the day at birds,
two terns were my best; as they landed
on a drunken streetlamp.
all of old belfast flew by.

i made his retirement spot best,
a chair looking out at rooves,
a property sign continually changing
price, i was alive on rooftops
like elliott's yellow fog*,
my exploring space.

creating the universe in a room, and
going to leave, the nurse stopped me

and i replied; ‘of course! my absence
would upset the balance of its newness,

so delicate, delicious.'

first published by 'dreich'
from the chapbook 'silent stigma loud leaf'