GLUG-GLUG-GLUG, the rainwater
off the outside of the bldg.,
still voices talking below the open window,

today a film of blue sky remained
behind the swirling dark smoky clouds
which suddenly opened up,
bullets fell in multiple volleys on roof slates,
the cats scurried to their dens in disgust,

with a preponderance of daylight re-emerging
I took to the asphalt,
at the bridge I was engulfed

wedged into the right angle of a
rough stone smithy wall / corrugated metal sheet
a tangled branchy mass of ivy hanging overhead,
I wondered what would happen
if I chewed the leaves

stood and imagined the Belgic invasion,
how they came ashore in boats,
waded among the reeds, the marshes, the rushes,
marched along the esker,
built avenues into Turoe
and established their seat

each death finds me in a new location,
a gigantic puddle in the middle of Shop St.,
soon the winter will come,

………r e i n c a r n a t i o n back on the agenda

Previously published in FIRE Poetry Magazine 25.

Michael S. Begnal’s latest poetry collection is Future Blues (Salmon Poetry, forthcoming 2012). Ancestor Worship was published by the same press in 2007, and Mercury, the Dime (Six Gallery Press) appeared in 2005.

Object(s) to bring back to life: “A united Ireland, thylacines, Schmidt’s of Philadelphia beer.”