South Beach. Arklow,
And here I sit
Amongst the rushes by the sea,
A sprig of Lucky Molly in my shoe.
The sands are still ..no wind, no sound
Save for the chug of fishing boat
Sliding across the shining sheen.
How be it then..beyond the line,
That armies drunk on weaponry,
Destroy the order of tranquility?
A mother crawls in her own blood
Towards the jelly of her child,
With lightening in her stricken eyes
The woman knows
If they do not…this is depravity.
The chugging boat is tiny now,
My thoughts,…my thoughts…my thoughts…
Are not philosophy.
K.B. 16th July 2022