your only man

Post N° 55

Every time I drive away from Dublin’s M50 it’s a slow impatience

that pushes the accelerator for me.

I have no problem finding my way until I get

at about 50 miles from you. I never take the same road then,

and find myself lost on some narrow dodgy roadeen

with no familiar spot on it to reassure me I’m going the right direction.

It is at this point that my slow impatience tells me to go mall a little bit,

so that I can read the few signposts and don’t miss the right turn

(although I do not have the faintest clue on where and when it is going to appear

and I’ve always had serious doubts the right turn really exists).

When I’m back on a track I can recognize, my eyes start to smile,

to cheer the local newsagent and petrol station, the pub, the church

we sometimes go on bustling Sunday mornings,

if you’re up in time for it.