Short Bicep Poems

Today I made the cake, 
cradling the bowl.
Arm aching, 
pulling at the fruit. 
Her recipe in front, spidery and sherry stained. 
And she was here.
I could feel her, smell her Christmas fragrance and
as my bicep burned she held the spoon and through it went
and she was gone....

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Tattoos were anathema in ‘52
on any man who got one 
after an all-night drunk

or to impress a girlfriend.
But not a word was spoken to 
a man who made it home 

tattooed after serving 
with his company in Korea.
Any man who made it back 

was welcomed whether 
he had Popeye on his bicep 
or his girlfriend's name

even if the girlfriend married 
someone she had met while he 
was digging foxholes in Korea.


Donal Mahoney...

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