Get Your Premium Membership


 I was making my way home late one night
this summer, when I staggered
into a snow drift.
Her eyes spoke of a sloe-year, her mouth a year of haws.
Was she Aurora, or the goddess Flora, Artemidora, or Venus bright, or Anorexia, who left a lemon stain on my flannel sheet? It's all much of a muchness.
In Belfast's Royal Victoria Hospital a kidney machine supports the latest hunger-striker to have called off his fast, a saline drip into his bag of brine.
A lick and a promise.
Cuckoo spittle.
I hand my sample to Doctor Maw.
She gives me back a confident All Clear.

Poem by Paul Muldoon
Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem - AislingEmail Poem | Create an image from this poem

Poems are below...

More Poems by Paul Muldoon

Comments, Analysis, and Meaning on Aisling

Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Aisling here.

Commenting turned off, sorry.