THE POLITICS OF A SHAMROCK

 

We stopped the telly and the tea to watch the thunder
on Thursday; 1-100, 2-100, 3-100 we counted
in between the light growing dimmer and that storm,
coming closer.

We watched from distant windows, catching breaths
in between fears of catching colds while next-door
neighbours pulled curtains over concerns, here,
in a country where we thank the drivers of busses,
a country now the bearers of the cleanest of bottoms
whose aisles run empty
while out in the fields I see nothing but bounty.

I wish I had a river I could skate away on- I hear
the song but we can’t all slip upstream like the salmon,
these are not the days of the dance
and knowledge, until captured, is not a cure.

We packed up Patrick and his party with handshakes
and other saints for other seasons,
swapped the shamrock for a dozen hand sanitisers
and will drown out all fear in Dettol this year.

We stopped the telly and the tea last Thursday
to take stock of the storm, trying to capture
in the sky all we couldn’t see with our eye,
and all I saw was an eagle;
sitting shameless with a bowl of shamrocks
by an orange coloured man in a white house,
a far cry from the panic raining over my house.

We stopped the tea on Thursday to watch the thunder.

 

All Words and Watercolours by Damien B Donnelly.

 

Written as part of the Cobh Writers and Readers #PoetryPrompt featured on Twitter. Do drop by and join in the creative distraction. @CobhWR or follow the link below…

https://paperneverrefusedink.com/2020/03/14/cobh-readers-and-writers-writing-prompts/