Patrick Moran lives in Templetuohy, Co Tipperary, where he works as a teacher. His poetry has been published in a variety of periodicals, including The Honest Ulsterman, Poetry Ireland Review and Force 10. He was shortlisted for the Hennessy/Sunday Tribune Poetry Award in 1990. His first collection of poetry is forthcoming from Dedalus press.
Weekends, I help my father pick the spuds.
For years, like this: lugging sacks to the pit.
A few birds dart from the ragged hedges.
I've grown inward, mouldy. I don't quite fit.
At Quinn's, lights are burning late in the fog.
The dark young man, 'tis whispered, made his own end.
Mourning words stumbling on unsayables;
Prayers aching to salve the gaping wound.
Burial after Sunday mass. Hangovers.
The old rituals seem drained to the dregs.
Darkness is falling through the afternoon.
The hunters are coming home with empty bags.