Irish poetry

Lothario
He always dined at table off the finest meat
and chose the fairest girls to go with him to sleep,
even completely sozzled, falling on his feet

he'd grin, and purse his lips and make them sit
upon his knee, or go downstairs his tares to reap:
he always dined at table off the finest meat.

If any of his lovelies tried to cheat,
feigned sickness, headache melancholy deep
he'd stow her in a cellar and repeat

what he'd intended on the next one sweet
and if she cried, the next he'd leave all in a heap:
he always dined at table off the fairest meat.

At last it seemed he took to English beef
and gorged whole sirloins tasty scullions too.
He'd always dined at table on the finest meat.

But bit by bit his body went on heat,
his hair fell out his bones dug sharp and deep
the steers or beef were part of his defeat,
he always dined at table off the finest meat.

World Cup 98
Come clean Blair
it wasn't Beckham that lost it.
It wasn't heroic,
no Dunkirk here,
just sodding indiscipline.

If you had sheltered
with a teenage kid
in quiet Marseilles bars
and been invaded
by a pack of English louts
hoarding their budweisers,
if coming on the train
you'd heard grown men assert
that England was a master race
and we should all be Fuhrers -
(just as they tried to bust
train windows with their bottles,)
you'd hardly claim with such bold face
that World Cup 98 was glorious.

Staff Meeting
A chunk of brightness spots the iron table
and the rough grass running to the river.
I feel a flare inside.
The kids are off in Lichfield shopping.
We're free though still on duty.
Jan puts her legs up on a chair
and talks to me of Cambridge

We must have gossiped hours away at school,
sat, colleagues, at a host of meetings,
but I'd never have possibly guessed ... her history
two years of living in sin in Cambridge
a year at Oxford too.
I feel inadequate and very, very old.

Revenge
I had my warnings:
drunk your stag-night,
crack in the puddings,
the house you promised
the curving drive and stables -
why didn't you say you'd rented it..
for just three days?
You could have used that grand to buy a car.
As for saying your drinking makes me happy ...
superior maybe,
superior to an arse-hole
honking out upon the toilet floor,
but happy! No.
I don't mind hostels,
thin single beds
sick-smelling loos,
but what I miss above all else
is turning away from you in bed
and saying ' I'm just too tired tonight.'

Monster
Sun flicks the faces in the Art Centre.
Most have not been arty,
seen no pictures, bought no books,
given wide berth to the gateau
with the fly on top
but got the short-cut
through the building
to buy their sweeties from the van.

My patch of grass is crowded -
a young girl with tasselled gypsy skirt
sits sideways on the grass ?
her parents chew on hamburgers.
She twists, looks at me and smiles -
I smile at her -
she wrinkles up her nose,
I wrinkle mine and pout.

Then suddenly she’s torn away,
Two backs blot me out.

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