Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Donal Mahoney- A Poem

So Fingertips Kiss
Five kids, eight years. 
And then one day my wife 
shouts to me on the tractor
roaring in the field:
“I’ve had enough.”
And like a ballerina,
she rises on one foot, sole
of the other foot firm
against her knee
and with arms overhead
so fingertips kiss,
she smiles,
and then like a helicopter
lifts into the air,
whirls over the garage
and keeps rising.
I can do nothing now
but curse
and be proud.
As if at the ballet,
I applaud from the tractor
and blink at the inferno
as she hits the sun.


Donal Mahoney has worked as an editor for one publication or another for most of his life, probably because words are the one thing he can handle without making too many mistakes. Tools and mechanical things have always buffaloed him. But give him a blank page, and he'll happily step back and throw words at it like buckshot. And then he'll step forward and keep rearranging them until the deadline, real or imagined, arrives.

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