Christos

 Two Workmen were carrying a sheet of asbestos
down the main street of Dingle;
it must have been nailed, at a slight angle,
to the same-sized gap between Brandon

and whichever's the next mountain.

Nine o'clock.
 We watched the village dogs
take turns to spritz the hotel's refuse-sacks.

I remembered Tralee's unbiodegradable flags

from the time of the hunger-strikes.

We drove all day past mounds of sugar-beet,
hay-stacks, silage-pits, building-sites,
a thatched cottage even—

all of them draped in black polythene
and weighted against the north-east wind
by concrete blocks, old tyres; bags of sand
at a makeshift army post

across the border.
 By the time we got to Belfast
the whole of Ireland would be under wraps
like, as I said, 'one of your man's landscapes'.

'Your man's? You don't mean Christo's?'

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...