Saturday, March 14, 2015

Donal Mahoney- Three Poems

Sir Real

Brett and Amanda were 
in the same wedding party. 
He was best man, 
bronze and handsome. 
She was maid of honor, 
porcelain and beautiful.
They had a wonderful day 

and danced all night
at the reception, met
after work every night
for the next two weeks,
finally told her parents 
they were going to elope,
obtained a marriage license,

arranged a honeymoon
in Paris and London,
bought plane tickets,
packed their bags
and were on their way to
the justice of the peace
for a fast wedding 

when Amanda asked 
if there was anything 
she could do for Brett
once they were wed
and Brett said there was:
She could applaud when
he walked into a room,

smile and curtsy, speak 
only when spoken to.
His first two wives
had failed to do that 
and those marriages 
had ended quickly.
He hoped she understood.

The Quilters

They’re widows
old and gray, bent over 
a quilting frame, sewing 
to meet a deadline 

for the next raffle
talking and sewing in
grand memories
of husbands

dead for years 
remembered daily 
missed deeply 
loved forever by

six quilters, all
cheerleaders waiting 
to leap when their men 
walk through the door.

Conference on Homeland Security

I can’t speak for the women
attending this conference
on Homeland Security.

They’re scholars, too,
brought here for their expertise.
Perhaps I can speak for the men

sitting in these rows with iPads
first session of the morning,
staring straight ahead at

two breasts above the podium,
two heat-seeking missiles
restrained by a suit coat

but programmed to fire 
and wipe out ISIS, Al Quaida
and Boko Haram. 

These men won’t duck for cover.
They are patriots forever
ready to die for the cause.

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

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