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Thank God It’s Dry

Disregarding Mary in the post office

the Mary with the permanent hairnet:

It’s promised bad.  She headed off

any brazen praise of  bold good

weather.  Six years coming this

heat wave over Ireland.  Mesmeric

the buzzing bees, checking stalks

of  self-heal  the way you’d check for mail

in the “pigeon hole” before e-mail.

The lost years.  How real life stalks

the meat of you.  Mesmeric

the cabbage white—bouncing dot in this

karaoke meadow.  It sings a song of good

death.  You lifted his coffin and headed off

for Mass behind a cousin in sleazy fishnets

the weight on four shoulders and off his.

in  Barrow Street, Summer 2004