the
orange of Ulster sunsets,
and
rises again and again, I give thanks
By
morning light, the sea calms, the waves are raked,
and
feel hope, false, indestructible hope.
England.
Liverpool;
like
this ship, condemned to sail away and towards
and
forwards
As
our ship shudders and sinks
Plastic
cups roll along the floor,
with
faces flushed stagger speechless from the toilet.
We
yawn and vomit, yawn and vomit,
The
pitching ship pushes through hostile night.
like
the floor of a urinal flooded with urine.
I
climb up
and down unstable stairs
The
upper deck's awash with brine,
backwards
and
forwards,
backwards
Belfast,
Northern
Ireland,
the
screaming lies behind us, we queue to separate.
The
green of Ulster fields,
have
faded, distant. In the grey dawn, the pleasure of feeling
nothing.
