So he said there’s not much good
in having a bee-loud glade and
keeping the double-glazing shut.
And I said you won’t find me
putting up with a draught.
Then he said you should just listen
to the bees and the birds.
And I said there’s no birds
out there, only crows.
And he said crows are birds.
Then I thought what can I knit
him for his birthday that he
won’t like, that I can scold him
for not wearing, ungrateful pig,
for the rest of his days?
And I said hand me down
me knitting basket, will you?
And I thought I’ll have the house
off of him if he doesn’t
Then he said I’ve a thirst on me
that’d cut a throat.
And I thought if only it’d cut yours.
But I said why don’t you pop over
for a jar and see if your pals are in?
And he said yeah I might in a while.
And I thought they’re like children
really, though with a child you
can always look forward to
them leaving home for good.
Éamon Mag Uidhir is a Dubliner living in County Kildare. He has had poems published recently in Cyphers, The Moth, Crannóg, Revival, and online in Misty Mountain Review. He edited Icarus while attending TCD during the 1970s and currently maintains an online shrine to the sonnet form at www.sonnetserver.com