Céad Mile Fáilte

Look, there comes one of them now!

Put us in space, Brigid, or we'll

boil off in this desert, freeze off

antediluvian borders, färt el norte,

tarred from pale ghosts, hunted

like heads beneath Doggerland, spar

over the Irish sea, fast on farms,

tongues jello, sing "Ne me quitte pas,"

our minds' subsistence for zombi,

sifted, tripped over Brigid's guests

with red frocked choristers erect

in Pottsville, worshipping Dagda

so young barbarians can't rule us

with bitter smoke, an acrid conquest,

scent of burnt feathers, hair, lice,

worm us through this place, stagger

to college, "Just sew," effaced, prêt

à-porter, piping, gigging, "Sad duty,"

dusty, Brigid: a demo won't tout

an intern without stipend: we reckon

blues to blau become azure, lazuli

or lapis, deepest cenote, but not deep,

deep green of rainforests, so cut its

mud jugular, musty, "Just sow!" beige

savannah, peat, blank, permafrost,

glaze, none of Brigid's curachs, shells

we've escaped, migrated for less

than pennies, tending looms, dimes,

fitting pipes, dollars per PCB, left

our papers to check our cred matches,

serve barley, bacon, banana, tea:

"Did you have to fill it all the way up?"

[personae]

the bowl uncovered