Come on pilgrim to a pagan place
How many winters in the wild wood downing cans?
Any wonder we had stiff little fingers.
They were stunning days all the same, the real wonderstuff,
HUP! two, three, four, a new model army
modelled on your brother’s vinyl collection,
we’d seen the whole of the moon
and shed our father’s clothes, and anyone who couldn’t keep up
was just a philistine.
Emotional fish swimming streams of whiskey
we had suicidal tendencies,
paranoid visions from too much of that petrol emotion.
I should have copped by the cut of those violent femmes
that it was always going to be a blue Monday,
but we bantered on through the night like talking heads.
Is this my beautiful life? No, my friend
this is the sea.
Keith Payne is the Ireland Chair of Poetry Bursary Award winner for 2015-2016. His collection Broken Hill, (Lapwing Publications, 2015), will be followed by Six Galician Poets, (Arc Publications) in 2016.