The mobile phone.
but anyway
there’s only 3 times
I’ve even said it,
and why should this one
be any different
than any other?
hell, one of them
was only 18 months ago,
and I would have stayed in canada
forever if I could. only,
it’s been a year now
chrysty,
and being without you
would be
like nothing so much
as losing a mobile phone. not romantic,
perhaps, but I’d
still go dizzy
and so would most people
I’m sure. ants
march in step together;
then you put your foot down,
suddenly
they’re lost. I think
for you
I’d leave canada
no question. I’d go in boats – go anywhere.
The dinner plate.
like light
bent through glasses
of water, the coast
curves eastward
while you drive on the north road.
leaving the city, street stretching
way heading howth and toward home,
while on your right
the southside shines, white as a side
of cheese on a dinner plate,
sweating with water
and reflecting candles.
Sweat
wet
as a red desert,
and you
all sweat and rainbow,
wet, fresh as grass
in the morning.
I could drink from your neck
and taste rivers
sprung sudden in summer
with no salt. delicious
and cold
on clean
bedlinen, dodging
the crumbs
of staying
at my place. waking up
in an hour
or so at 4 or 5
pm
and a world
the flavour
of fruit.
DS Maolalai has been nominated four times for Best of the Net and three times for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden (Encircle Press, 2016) and Sad Havoc Among the Birds (Turas Press, 2019).