by Patricia Walsh
Reminiscing on high, a singular entity
not to surface anywhere soon, an exit cleared,
shunting the retarded into a living cupboard
viewed at a remove, a ringtone demonised,
simple mathematics watered down on spec.
What is left now to follow the rules?
Not to associate left hand with right, perhaps
necessary obligations lazed into the morning,
stopgap accommodation beloved at once
home-bird concatenations restricted in due course.
More family secrets than any other, nicely,
not getting style from another, mercifully dead,
miffed at exclusion, deserved at a glance
prayer for occupation aimed at getting a job
not striving as yet, financial surprises looming.
Humble destinations, productive misgivings
failed at every turn, not wanting to be heard
this parish joke, through marriage and birth,
quietly financing a singular disease
producing once a day is simple enough.
This teacher’s minion, popular all the same
the unemployable sound catches a fire
living responsibly, dark veins of housing
bouncing off indolence, hurting desirably,
the functional terror of a granted station.