The Road To Ireland
I would like to live in the West, at the edge
of the world, on a small holding,
walk my cow each day to the milk shed
and see which hen I am beholding to
for laying an egg. I would change
wheat into loaves, fill my plate from the field,
stack turf like gold bars for the kitchen range,
and conceal my distillery in creels.
Instead, I have stood at the town’s crossroads
and listened to who is ‘Wanted’ across the border,
who is being adulterous on the old bog roads
and who sprayed ‘Ireland is out of order!’
The Water Thief
That the locals preferred footwear
throughout the year
is wellingtons, shows no shortage of water.
Yet it has been leaked that a neighbour
parked his tractor,
with an empty tank on a trailer,
at my outside tap and syphoned enough water
to empty the local reservoir.
Perhaps his thirst was greater
or was it to top up the Tullaghabegley River
and coax the return of that old otter?
Perchance it was connected to a letter
from the Department of Water.