On the 7am Luas to Tallaght

Dermot Bolger

I never thought that the West would be like this:
Trying to sleep on the tram to Tallaght at dawn,
My mouth so dry I can no longer taste your kiss.


Swapping words in ten languages for tiredness,
Fellow passengers stare out, barely able to yawn:
They never thought the West would be like this.


This journey compounds every ache of loneliness.
I close my eyes, unable to stop thinking of home,
My mouth so dry I can no longer taste your kiss.


Last night on the phone I could sense your stress,
Our children no longer asking when will I come:
I never thought that the West would be like this.


To them I’m now a cheque from a foreign address,
A man who builds apartments we could never own,
My mouth so dry I can no longer taste your kiss.


All day I will shovel cement, yearning to caress
Your neck with each button of your blouse undone:
I never thought that the West would be like this,
My mouth so dry I can no longer taste your kiss.

 

 

On the 7am Luas to Tallaght

 

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