Near North Side: Chicago

Where will the lovely lady go
on her diurnal walk?
One child in 30 years she bore,
now they do not talk.
Supple, firm, her lithe legs are,
young men wheel and gawk.
A husband left her money, though,
a poodle, too, to walk.

poem by Donal Mahoney
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Pretty Girl Now Passing

Look so pretty you
no sound floats
out of my mouth

as I sit silent now
staring through you
boring in

wondering
what it is that
does this

to me now
and every time
I see you still

just out walking
talking
laughing with him

poem by Donal Mahoney
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Song for Ballyheigue

County Kerry, Ireland

Twig fire limn
eight fairy
in a lour cave mouth

Four of whom
a tabor thrum

Four of whom
breathe zephyr
through wee fife

All of whom
leap star,
the joy of life

All of whom
sing lark,
the yet to come

poem by Donal Mahoney
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Corner Office

Unlike his peers
his office holds
no photo of a wife
no indication that he has
fathered five
and probably
will father more.
There's a silver ashtray, though,
and a tinkling chandelier
and carpeting
his wife would like
soars across the floor.

poem by Donal Mahoney
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The Peahen

A dream wrought by curry

Somewhere in Mumbai
great fans whir against the ceiling

as the old madam reigns
from her rocker and has

the girls come out, one by one,
picks this girl for her own

won't let me pick mine
from those she has parading.

poem by Donal Mahoney
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Dropped by a Peacock

I can no more justify these poems
than can the pyromaniac
his conflagrations. We both
stand back, the pyromaniac
in his alley, I on my hill,
each of us loving
the leap of our flames.
His are gazelles but mine
are just feathers
dropped by a peacock.

poem by Donal Mahoney
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Sadie Says

Perhaps it's true
perhaps it's not

we'll never know
if it's the reason

Sadie sleeps
till noon each day

then with her limp
walks to the beach

to feed wild cats
but never a dog

because Sadie says
everyone knows

cats are poetry
dogs are prose.

poem by Donal Mahoney
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Mother's Day

In the long run
the boy will be worth
all the misery
I've caused you,
all the grief.

If only for his smile,
yours, I know.
If only for his eyes,
mine, I know.
But his eyes,

they have your smile,
brighter than a rainbow,
streaming through them.

poem by Donal Mahoney
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Haberdasher's Thoughts

The haberdasher has
that season of the year
he rids his racks, his bins
of oddments.
I have no season of the year
like that.
Today, or any day, a derby,
spats or chrome-tipped cane
can shuffle out from stock.
I have no choice.
I have to offer counter space.

poem by Donal Mahoney
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Ritual

It is not the position,
not the money,
not the opportunity.
It is breakfast
with my steaming tea,
my rolls,
my periodicals,
my wife pouring, buttering, keeping quiet,
my shower, towel, shirt and tie,
my selection of that tie and
that tie's winding,
my good-bye.

poem by Donal Mahoney
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