Thirty-three and a half minutes listening to the static;
I'm one big ear! hoping to hear a message
from the other side...
Beethoven has an unfinished symphony he wants completed,
Arthur Conan Doyle complains fiction today is all detective work,
Joan of Arc loves Mel Brooks.
Thirty-four and a half minutes and my patience snaps;
I turn to RTE, the writer Derek Mahon
Is being discussed by a panel.
They've detected importance in his poem
'A Disused Shed in Co. Wexford'.
Mushrooms decaying in the dark,
Holy Joes adrift in a Godless cellar,
Sweethearts who've missed the boat,
Bollards moored in misery,
Death-pale and ghostly.
I would store this poem in a cool dark place
and only bring it out into the light of day
for a bookish friend, a literature hound;
it merits close inspection.