A New Ireland

It was a wet November day on the motorway to Cork waiting at traffic lights a tiny man shuffled towards me frail, bald and alone, his piercing eyes beseeching, palms outstretched, imploring. His face ravaged with fear his shame stirred shame in me as I turned my face away, I saw others do the same. I felt raw discomfort it changed rapidly to fear as the cold face of recession the demise of my country the pain of my people stood before me in this little man an ache so immense, I had covered it deep. Faced now with utter revulsion, abject anger towards our government, our bankers and developers, those sneaky golden circles, as my eyes met his, I saw my own reflection. The country’s bubble burst a year ago but he had just burst mine. For In his tiny frame, I saw our fragile nation a country on its knees begging for a bail out. In his isolation, I felt my own vulnerability huge impending loss as my children face emigration. In his baldness, I saw the naked masses new poverty and pain, still crushing us, the people This little man could be me.