A BIT IRISH (by Medbh Gillard and James Healy)

"Is fadoodle a word?"

reverie

last night
by the riverside
i saw myself
a ten child
with vincent berney
and john martin
in youthful incarnations
fight and run and hide

then was i
desolate and morose
dust took the image
even the living have ghosts

Heelers and the Arabs

Dublin 9pm. Savouring the atmosphere in the cultural heart of this city. That is to say, in the Starbucks Cafe near Trinity College.
There are two Arab girls sitting at an adjoining table.
They are dressed in their traditional style: all in black, dresses to the ankles, scarves covering their hair.
Occasionally they glance my way.
Lovely calm spirits.
They linger for an hour after they've finished their coffees.
The hour passes all too quickly for me.
When they stand up, it is with an indescribable languid grace.
At the door the taller one turns back to me, and gives the frankest of smiles.
A smile that is part a thank you, part a goodbye, and part a sensual celebration of herself.
The door closes behind them.
They are as beautiful as any women I've ever seen.

nocturne

intermezzo

Afternoon in Dublin. As warm as it gets. Didn't feel up to an Italian lesson with villainy Angela.
Ah, she's lovely I tells ee.
Just don't turn your back on her.
Contented myself with the grand tour. Bookshops and cafes. Towards evening found myself in the mystical cultural heart of the city. By which I mean the Starbucks cafe on Dame Street. There I sat watching the world go by. Rang Bianca. Told her that she had the most sensual voice I had ever heard.
She said: "My voice thanks you."
I said: "If only I could marry just your voice."
For some reason she was not amused.
Later still as I drove towards home, the sky did its impression of a renaissance painting, and my soul filled with the oddest sense of peace.