Litkicks Message Board Archive

going home 2 MAYO winter 2001

Posted to Poetry




leaving behind us the alien, foreign city of Dublin
My father drove through the night in an old ford anglia,
his five-year-old son in the seat beside him,
the rexine seat of red leatherette,
and a yellow moon peerred in through the windscreen.

the moon has stepped back like an artist gazing
amazed at a work
alone i love
to think of us together
together i think
i'd love to be alone