here’s one of my favourite poems of the moment. It’s from Susan Millar DuMars’ collection Big Pink Umbrella, which is reviewed here and on sale here
Number Five
Many people at Number Five
Will say there’s too many
at Number Five-
Cardiganned aunties in cruel beehives
will say there’s no room
in Number Five.
Grey faced uncles, barely alive
will say there’s no air
inside Number Five.
Sharp elbowed floozies, too drunk to drive
teeter and totter
around Number Five.
Six empty suits have only arrived
to smoke and pace
inside Number Five.
And one soft man with pallbearer eyes
misplaced his sweetheart
inside Number Five.
He searches each room for her feathery smile,
her cool soft arms that wait all the while
but he’s lost her, amongst the sad
and the vile
that crowd into Number Five.
And many people at Number Five
Will say there’s too many
At Number Five-
Shop worn Sallies crowd the drive,
babies on hips,
outside Number Five.
And young men turn old
and are sad to survive
the death of their purpose,
the dusk of their pride-
and they stumble on sadly, sadly alive
in the din of
Number Five.
-Susan Millar DuMars
Tags: Irish Poetry, susan millar dumars
