Autumn in Belfast
The wide stretch of clouds
the relaxing hush of it all.
And the rain still forecast,
the clean butcher’s block of it,
no blood of mine on this earth.
The Lagan Towpath confesses
only to stolen magpie feathers
smoothed out and beaded in footprints.
And the Lock Keeper’s Inn is closed.
Only sullen silence. No light and shade
relaxing on the bridge like lovers.
And this little theft poem, this little
scandal I was repeating to myself
settles like a leaf in my beer.
ANDREW RAHAL lives in Belfast. He was selected for the Poetry Ireland Introductions Series (2019) and his chapbook was a finalist for the Gertrude Press and Cathexis Northwest Press prizes.