Killala Dreaming


‘It’s dour out there,’ Killian said,
As the weave and weft
of another set
Strikes the ledge, and unwinds
The left
Out past Ballina
Where light moves quick
Across the thick, windtorn peaks
It’s a safe bet,
This flat tongue of rock
Where west wind seeks
But gets swallowed
By armada-wrecking heights
The swell fights
about the head

Killian calls it;
‘Shit’ he says
Scratches his balls
And splits
Exhaust fumes and silence
But for the
pinwheeling gulls
And the left
That grumbles and spits
Rounding belmullet
Creeping past ballycastle
Dancing for me alone
With Ireland’s shore
This bitter, beautiful taste
‘You’ve grown down,
Not up.’
The left spinning
Past Lackan
The slab huge, square
Then it’s a solitary race
To wear piss-ridden rubber
To bear
The brunt of 8 degree
To care
More about something
Than it’s possible to share

It seems the birds laugh
As they dive
These Irish blackbacks
are heard
In the ruined arches
And stacks
Of rathfran friary
Down past Killala
And at Easky
Where the sky
kisses the river
As she hisses
Across blue boulders
And spry salmon breach
And glisten
Across the shoulders
Of the reef
If you listen, she’ll teach


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