Broken right.

I remember walking
through the streets of Dublin of a night,
alone.

Well half walking,
half running: I was in a hurry.
I’m always in a hurry

The wind was whipping old newspapers
around my legs. The discarded leaves
of yesterday’s discoverings and reflections.

It was a cold, desperate night.

All the grey black, boarded up windows
of the creative imagination’s misplaced courage.
Misplaced veins.

Cigarette smoke and misty tears.
The two lovers waiting at the bus-stop
with the broken glass.

I remember them and the uneasy looks in their eyes,
which wouldn’t meet. And their cold hands
just pretending.

And through the scratched and yellowed glass of the train window,
the simple lights of Bray twinkling
way off in the distance.

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6 thoughts on “Broken right.

  1. I love the way you paint with words. I can see what I think you imagined when you wrote, which is rare and very good indeed.

    Oh, and I added you to my blogroll. Thanks for adding me. 🙂

  2. It’s meant to be a bit meloncholy and a bit dark.
    I was a little upset, but why i do not know.
    I was a little awed by the lateness and aloneness combined in this city so…..

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