Wednesday, 6 July 2011

Control Zone

Who recalls the cringing silence
Of a town centre?
The cowed shops,
Already much wounded,
Blind with plywood cataracts:
Desperate measures,
Posted in black and yellow,
Forbade cars to be empty.
 - Pedestrian logic, these days -
Because one in a hundred,
Would be far too low on its axles,
For any innocent purpose.
A freight of kinetic badness,
Filling the boot.
Mixed with care,
In some Leitrim hayshed
Might consequently need
To be abandoned
Somewhere 'softer.'
The course of life and death
Made all the more perverse,
By the bombs
That never went off.

Friday, 1 July 2011

Following the flag

Shut blinds conceal
A coalition of wailing.
The dead energy used
To put a broken face on straight.
The journey from
Bungalow to Kirk
Is a hideous reversal
Of their wedding day.
This time:
She walks down that aisle alone,
Through a stifled congregation
Of everyone that knew them,
Struck again and again
By the voracious sympathy
On each neighbour's face -
Making it real like every nail
In the decorated coffin
Which left no space for her,
At the very altar
Where she once said
In reverent wonder:
 'I do.'