7am Passing By
Black polythene bags disgorging detritus
An urban comet trail along the path
Limned faintly in morning frost, cars passing, oblivious.
There, below an incongruous vermillion balaclava,
Framing a bearded wreck of a face,
Egg-yolk eyes blear vacantly
Through an indeterminate fuzz of grimy facial hair.
Tremulous, liver spotted hands on
Emaciated, bony wrists clutching a can of beer.
7a.m. Commuters pass, indifferent, apart.
A thin patina of of grime, helplessness and loss
Clings to this dessicated, withered hull.
A discarded, broken party balloon
Imbued with the wan hue of incipient
Hepatic surrender interspersed with the
Spidered red veinous signatures
Of dissolution and despair.
They will likely be there tomorrow
These remains of a boy.
Martin O'Neill's Other Poems
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