Saturday, October 6, 2012

Saturday Poetry: Famine (a pantoum)



I eye my Irish husband.
He sneers at me in derision.
It’s our tattooed 17 year-old son:
he who has gotten obese.

He sneers at me in derision.
The boy’s buttonholes fly across his chest.
He who has gotten obese.
My Irish husband pats his corduroy vest

the boy’s buttonholes fly across his chest.
Reminds me of the times, he tells me.
My Irish husband pats his corduroy vest
Do I want to hear it again?

Reminds me of the times, he tells me,
his father would heat the poker.
Do I want to hear it again?
I must close my eyes to my husband’s glee.

His father would heat the poker
swinging it round and round his head.
I must close my eyes to my husband’s glee:
His father staggering home singing bollix tiss and fookin tat

swinging it round and round his head,
his memory conjures a white-haired gabna
His father staggering home singing bollix tiss and fookin tat
sick to death of snotty beggars huddling in their corner.

His memory conjures a white-haired gabna
that sent the eldest running across his father’s acres
sick to death of snotty beggars huddling in their corner
his final sight of them, petrified,

that sent the eldest running across his father’s acres.
And in his telling he stowed away on the last boat leaving,
his final sight of them petrified.
He brooded over the moment when the crew found him.

And in his telling he stowed away on the last boat leaving.
Not one thought for his sisters and brothers
He brooded over the moment when the crew found him
he told them he was an only child, an orphan, prob’ly.

Not one thought for his sisters and brothers.
The year our son met his father’s siblings
he told them he was an only child, an orphan, prob’ly
and they my son, filling his hands full of shillings, pounds.

The year our son met his father’s siblings
they told each other how he was so like their brother
and they my son, filling his hands full of shillings, pounds.
But, the boy declined the morsels of their faith.

They told each other how he was so like their brother
A boy they never forgot.
But, the boy declined the morsels of their faith,
a sin the family never forgave.

A boy they never forgot
is the sullen boy before us now
a sin the family never forgave
shared with a father more agnostic than most.

Is the sullen boy before us now
aware of what he has
shared with a father more agnostic than most?
Hence the tattoos obscuring the fatty rings around his neck.

Aware of what he has
he genuflects before the refrigerator
hence the tattoos obscuring the fatty rings around his neck
I dare not come between my child and his God.

He genuflects before the refrigerator,
he sneers at me in derision.
I dare not come between my child and his God:
he who has gotten obese.

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