endymion

A wave of young sea gulls hovers in front of me.
They can catch the pieces of bread in the air.
The swans have emerged from the water and are crowding me on the bank.
Some of the ducks join them but keep a respectful distance, fancy pants green males, and demurely cute brown females.
Pigeons pick their way as close as they dare. They're more cautious of the seagulls than they are of me.
Soon all the bread is gone.
I praise God for his creatures who glorify him by their being.
The canal lies in the heartland of a Dublin devastated by drug dealing IRA skang gangs who are presently at war with each other as well as with humanity.
But evening has come.
The wind ruffles.
Children amble from school.
Women strut with baby carriages.
For all the devastation and ruined lives courtesy of the Hutch gang, the Kinahans and their ilk, it's still a timeless Dublin evening.
Heavens the beauty of it is unfathomable.
I unfold my empty plastic bag and slowly begin to pick up the cans, bottles, crisp packets, and drug paraphenalia scattered on the bank.
This is how it starts.
This is how we take it back.

Mid the decreptitude of the city of Dublin,
A certain heroism still attends
Through the temples of our shabbiness
Walk ghostmen legends.

I of course mean me.