John Molloy

Rookie - 0 Points (02.09.1968 / Dublin, Ireland)

Suite 8 - Poem by John Molloy

I sat, eyes closed, waiting.
Footsteps swept past -
Busy ones, fretful ones,
Limps and staggers.
Voices came to call -
Air filled quiet questions,
Tender booming answers
And reedy radio requests.
Piss soaked bleach lingered;
An odd perfume and a
Singular salt filled breeze
Rose my breakfast.
Memories, my own, stole
My dread for her -
A moments restbite from
A world of hurt.

No sound of her yet;
No hint
No clue
No release.
The swish of an opening door
Drowns all.
Her voice sounds clear.
Her steps click evenly.

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Poem Edited: Thursday, May 17, 2012

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