Drumnacross by Edward Denniston

No talking to you now, quiet boy,
holding May Elliott’s hand at the back of a ditch
standing beside Bobby the horse’s dead-weight,
eye and mouth sizzling with flies.

No talking to you now, quiet boy,
early one morning looking down from a window
the horse’s head hanging from the rear of a creeled trailer,
rattling its way past the alders and out of the yard.

Quiet boy, no talking to you, hunkering down
under the boards of the tipped-up cart
quizzing Packy the workman about how dead people know
the right place to go when they arrive in heaven.

No talking to you, all on your own
just to feel how brave you might be
walking away from the house to the top of the lane
climbing the gate to the Well field before turning back.

In you, fields, ditches, laneways settled themselves.
The road rose and dipped and twisted its way into town
where someone tossed your hair; said to your mother,
isn’t he the quiet boy? There’s no talking to you now.

 

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For Crying Out Loud

Edward’s latest poetry collection, For Crying Out Loud, was published by Salmon Poetry and is available here.

Find out more about Edward on our Contributors’ Page.

 

(Photo: Dennis Jarvis/flickr.com/CC-BY SA 2.0)

Edward Denniston
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