REVOLUTIONS sweet & sad and softly amused at the world and its circles around the sun forever & always & so on through turnstiles and hulahoops never looking below or behind as meteorites and years slip, slip, by whispering— good-bye; good-luck; see-you ‘round.
FROM
38
S T. J A M E S GATE Joseph Eveld
Emily Lemiska
I want you, my Liffey Love, on wet coasters torn to shreds, mahogany bars and velvet couches, in settling heads and coins tapped on glasses. Pints measure progress and currency exchange. “Oh, Jasus! It spilt!” And it’s another round so “no bot’er.” Money’s never wasted on the dark blood of Dublin. Poured down from the taps in the pub—light and dark, I drink you for warmth from the cold air and rain. Two fingers down and I already want more of my bitter wet comfort from the sodden outdoors. Through the fog goggled window to the oil slick streets I see cold cobblestones and they point the way home. But I’m not ready to leave, My love, you’re a port in the storm, so be my stout shelter and I’ll say “give us some more.”