I saw Paul Durcan in The Winding Stair,
fingering a book of love sonnets.
‘Paul,’ I said, ‘your poetry is filthy with longing.’
He said, ‘Would you like to dance?’
So breast to chest we turned a Durcanesque
polka of long poems and harem-scarem
happenings around the bookstacks.
And, oh, the heft of him.
‘I won’t be falling in love with you,’ I said,
‘That’s OK,’ Paul murmured, ‘love’s not
looking for me at the moment. We’ve fallen out.’
Our bodies collided into man-woman as we swung,
our clothes and skin sewn into each other,
our legs a kicking chorus of dance, dance, dance
Paul spun me down the winding stairs
up across the bow of the Ha’penny Bridge,
and, spinning together, all our pages flew.
Nuala Ní Chonchuír
From
The Juno Charm
, a new collection by Nuala Ní Chonchuír, published by Salmon Poetry
