The doctor asks
As we sit
In this small Lucan surgery
And where else could I bring him?
He asks—
Have you ever thought of killing yourself?
My boy says
He got so upset today
That he frightened the teacher.
And the doctor asks—
What would be a perfect life?
My boy says
One without Irish.
Without Irish.
Ten little years of him
Has led to this
And it feels like rain.
Rain on a river.
When you can’t tell
Which way
Things are falling