Things He Will Miss…

Dermot Bolger

His son growing in time to look like him;
The way that his girlfriend’s face will age;

 

How they will finish building Clondalkin;
How other racers’ memories of him will fade

 

Until his name becomes a mere postscript,
With younger drivers oblivious to his feats

 

As they video each other turning doughnuts,
Cocooned behind tinted glass and sun strips.

 

How the buzz fades from woofers and wheelspins
When one night you cease to feel indestructible;

 

How sons are meant to shoulder their parents’ coffins
Not leave them to shoulder the ache of absence.

 

He will miss his son playing football in the park,
Cadging cash for dates, slagging his music tastes.

 

He will miss hearing the boy drive off into the dark,
The purgatory of night hours spent lying awake.

 

 

Things He Will Miss…

 

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