Poem

You know the way how, crossing Central Park,

trying to get to the West Side from the East

or to the Eastside Museums from the West,

you stray off line –

I’ll start again. You know the way how,

driving into Millstreet, you must decide

at the top of Lislehane whether to go

west to Ballydaly or east by Coalpits –

I’ll start one last time: you know the way

how, when you get the Oxford Tube, you

must decide whether to get off at Notting Hill

or stay on till Marble Arch or Victoria –

well, that is how it seems at this stage of things:

no right or wrong way, and not much turning

on which you choose, or how far the decision

will take you from the straight and narrow.