Small wonder
he’ s not been sighted all winter;
this old brock’ s
been to Normandy and back

through the tunnels and trenches
of his subconscious.
His father fell victim
to mustard-gas at the Somme;

one of his sons lost a paw
to a gin-trap at Lisbellaw:
another drills
on the Antrim hills’

still-molten lava
in a moth-eaten Balaclava.
An elaborate
system of foxholes and duckboards

The world weeps. There are no tears
To be found. It is deemed a miracle.
The president appears on screens
In villages and towns, in cities in jungles
And jungles still affectionately called cities.
He appears on screens and reads a story.
Whose story is he reading and why?
What lessons are to be learned from this story
About a time that has not arrived, will not arrive, is here?
Time of fire and images of fire climbing toward the sun
Time of precious and semi-precious liquids
Time of a man and a woman doused in ink

Brush your teeth, brush your teeth,
Give them all a treat.
Brush up and down and all around,
To keep them clean and neat.

In the morning and at night,
Clean them twice a day.
Brush up and down and all around,
Keep fillings well away.

Brush your teeth, brush your teeth,
Give them all a treat.
Brush up and down and all around,
To keep them clean and neat.

In the morning and at night,
Clean them twice a day.
Brush up and down and all around,
Keep fillings well away.

They walk past you
weeping
for the leaves that burnt
& fell, the wood exposed
like bone, sculpture
that suddenly emerges
from white haze.
You old fortune-teller,
you could have told them
in their vibrant grief