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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