Was Ascension Thursday, so by its very nature,
no wonder he brought things to a new level
of consciousness, talking of his mother
of pearl inlayed card table, brought back from Brazil
in seventy-two, a keepsake to turn a trick
on, or simply to stroke, along with his Jane Russell
look-a-like who exchange nuptials after two whole
weeks, and will prove a handful for his grasp,
despite his light fingered touch. A good head
on her shoulders is what’s said. Though, if truth
be told it be the keenness of her eye draws most
towards her, some says it be the ochre fleck
encroaching her pupil, does it every time, as if a fly
caught in resin, swimming the sticky limits of amber,
colours his emotions and ability to achieve full
houses or straight runs of sweet little flushes.
Copyright © Anne Fitzgerald 2012
