Archives

Pól Ó Lorcáin
Paul Larkin

Chroniclers are privileged to enter where they list, to come and go through keyholes, to ride upon the wind, to overcome in their soarings up and down, all obstacles of distance, time and place.
Charles Dickens - Barnaby Rudge, Chapter The Ninth

The Rabid Republic

 

I'm at the waterhole

Snow falling relentlessly

 

Gazing out the window

at the frozen self

 

My fellow species

crawling by in cars, bipeds,

a wing and a prayer

 

All must traverse this ancient trail

Like wildebeests

Relentlessly

 

Rain, hail or faltering precipice

 

I'm at the waterhole

Gazing relentlessly

when the jackals descend en masse

 

Like theirs, my eyes swivel

 

Watch for the weakest link

 

It is a small black lynx

Shocked by the white

 

Stunned when the first

snow bomb hits his flanks

his sudden mob of face

 

Scenting the piss of fear

the jackals are joined by their mates

from a nearby estate

 

The beautifully formed ebony prince

Turns

Makes to run

Fends off

Slips

Semi escapes

Gesticulates

Is tripped

 

And they are in

 

With punches and kicks

 

Slinking away in the sleet

Wired up and smirking

at this great feat

 

Devouring the heart of his pride

on which they will feast for a week

 

 

 

I'm at the waterhole

 

Stomach churning at this rabid Republic

 

The particular stench of rapine and avarice

 

 

 

 

 

 

@ Paul Larkin

 

Baile Átha Claith

Nollaig 2010

Féileire

<< December 2010 >>
SunMonTueWedThuFriSat
   1234
567891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
262728293031 

Cuardaigh - Search