Monday, June 25, 2007

Tabby (draft #4)
(25/06/2007)


Lap I, at dimly-lit oil-island pools
that trickle and gargle from unseen drip.

And plastic mouths have gummy grins from
where I at plastic pick; up this, I hack.

Soft I tread, along dripping walls with large
slogans that, fading, YELL. Passing, bristling,

lose int’rest I, nosing corpses collapsed
in filth. A glint betrays my crouch -

my shield of scars and snapping look, with
paws, silent strike can I - or shadow leave.

No mate have I; still-born scattered, lice rich.
My mist it clings, perfumed on every bitch.

At steaming doorways lit, gaze I; pouncing
And ripping vermin young; blackness tearing

beneath the pitch-night: drunken red-forged draw;
snatched fuck against the sleeping rubbish truck;

cross-legged shouts hailing growling orange-eyed
beasts black, which swallow up the crawling town.

Moon-washed, and perched, tail snakelike licks behind
a whiskered pulsing purr. Dawn seeps inwards.

posted by Hugh O'Donnell @ 7:58 PM 3 comments

Richie
(25/06/2007)

He was always
ghost-like: a shock
of blond hair and a skeletal
grimace.

I used to watch him
from the church altar: his eyes dreamt of being
with us.
His sister sat translucent also, under
a halo of ginger hair. No physical father ever accompanied
the two children.

Years

passed. Then
I’d see him: denim-clad, chipper, and a buddy
to old men: the newspaper seller;
the shopping-mall sweep.

He’d sport a Morton top. No friend
of the sun, he’d hang
around, under the cold eaves of the chapel grounds.
He would cut the holy lawn; beam
with pride at the clutch of heavy keys.

Friday night. Mother told me:
‘That wee boy hanged himself’

on Monday night.”

posted by Hugh O'Donnell @ 7:52 PM 0 comments