Irish Breakfast

Slippery egg sprinkle sprinkle metal salt

Pepper scented processed sausage meat

Fingers sweating clear lard grease to see through a pages see through age

Faded letters pages day age old

Little bacon slices in cured salt sea

Blood black cooked oats what we’ve fed and fattened our gentlemen stuffed into thin cases of guts

see through non plastic tights - ballons, cats turned into violins, horses into brushes, pigs into breakfast

On three separate occasions they talked of the fry

Relevant to remember and I remember to offer that I forgot to remember my goat leather bag where I noted the words not verbatim but how I wanted to

I stop in my tracks to watch the men working for Guinness kicking the kegs to the steps of Clearys on Amiens Street opposite Connolly station then one takes the kegs on his back down steel stairs clank clank I watch stopping the strange familiar haunting within when home knowing it was a broken home turning me into a tourist sometimes I kick the keg too rolling into the pubs where at a pint or point I may shake the ghosts off and see as I did when I couldn’t do what I do now