O'Malley wakes as ever at 3 am without an alarm,
performs his ablutions, mutters prayers for the dead,
the sick. He'll repeat them later. It never hurts
to give God an extra nudge. In the cecropia tree,
a quetzal calls keow-kowee-keow-k'loo-keow-keloo.
He dunks a teabag in his Sligo Rovers mug, nibbles
a cracker, adds more notes to his reminiscences
about his father. Remembers Da's neck muscles;
how his splenius cervicis and nuchal ligament
supported Da's great head as he fought Alzheimer's
like a stallion struggling in green Atlantic breakers.
Christopher T. George
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment