GORTAHORK - Poem
GORTAHORK 1999
(copyright 2011, by Dave Kiffer)
And here we are the day after
The day after St. Stephens Day
The day after the storm passed
Rearranging all the rocks
On the Bloody Foreland
Everyone is picking the debris
From between their teeth
And we are walking between
Petrol- blistered hedges to the
Only open store on this desolate
Edge of the breakers and waves
That started with a rock tossed
From the edge of Revere Beach,
Still looking for a good steak
We are breathily near
The home of the Gaelic poet
Whom the neighbors love
Because you must always
Love your kin, even if you
Don’t understand about
The Nepalese boys always
Hanging about the Gaeltecht
With their sad eyes lolling
About while the rest of us
Wring our fingers over Y2K
And tell each other we’ll
See ya “next” millennium
But the store is empty and
There is no steak or tatties
To be had anywhere near
As the ESB scurries to bring
The power back on, on the
Outskirts, here, on the tail
Of the great Celtic Tiger
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