The Ink Is Warm, The Gloves Are Off

And So,

It Is Time To Write:




You Are Like Granite


A Rubber Band

Ready To Drop


Flake Or Break

S t   r   e     t     c       h

Bend Over Backwards

And Do Other Impossible Feats

Your Pale Eyes Lead

Back To The Island

Where Wild Animals Chorused

In Your Childhood Dreams


Now No-one Is Kinder

More Gentle

But You Seem

Not To Have Grown So


Rather To Have Simply

Remained So

Even Though

Even While

Torrents Of Cynicism

Washed Over

By And Around


Who Were Always

Looking In An Other

A Unique Direction

As If At Something

Of Which

You Would Never Tell

Even If You Could


And As For ‘Should’

You Never Learned

That Evil Word

Somehow Supplanted

In Your Cot

By The Timely Shriek

Of An Owl

The Scurry Of A Marten

Or the Red Brush

Of A Squirrel’s Tail


Paul O’Kane, November, 2016