The Nag Poem by Paddy Glackin

I never met his speakeasy uncle who left us all behind
but I played O’Neill’s lament and ran poor racehorses
I didn’t know him when I loved Montague’s grand niece
Walking from the broad road up over Garvaghey hill

Why should I feel this uagineas in my heart?
For a man who was Godfather to a stranger
Who as I, hungered for the smell of horse sweat
and tired with the feel of sticky rosin

Was I to know when I watched Walter hunched under the bale?
that strange succession had passed into my hand
Montague, I never knew, but seen his driptych chucky at the PO window
My fiddle is teetering on the nail, succession to drop elsewhere.

Succession recognisable only in loss as in love!
How sneakily that succession came, and ghostly it passes.
I envy the soul who tunnelled to run the speakeasy
My red face and thyroid eyes gained only from frustration

PG June 09