in belfast town

in belfast town
i was born
in the jubilee ward
of a mid-march morn
to an existence
where the pains of love
greet cold huddled houses
in sleet drenched streets

the ballyhoo bark of scabby dogs
heralds a new dawn
a pot of thick sweet tea
bread 'n' drippin'
slimy blistered eggs
in a pan of black speckled grease
the racing form digested
a dole cheque
cigarettes
gee-gees and pints
the new day old already

deathly
night descends
on suspicious day's
nervous watch
unbiased
it entombs
the falls, the shankill
andytown and finaghy
the markets
the 'murph
the village
the 'row
the bone
and tiger bay

 

as published in the New York Quarterly issue #61