September

The first September of the pandemic,

The sky’s a watercolour, white and grey,

And Pembroke Street is empty, and so is

Leeson Street. This is the time after time,

What the world will look like when the world

Is over, when people have been ushered into

Seats reserved for them in the luminous

Heavens.

                Moving towards the corner of

Upper Pembroke Street and Leeson Street,

An elderly man wears a mask; his walk is

Sprightly, his movements brisk. I catch

His watery eye for a watery moment. 

Without stopping, all matter-of-fact,

He says: ‘Someone told me you were dead.’