A movement of flutes
I’m rushing. the beer shops
all close here at 10pm
sharp (that’s unless you’re already
in them). I’ve been eating dinner
at my parents’ tonight – with my brother
and sister and both of their wives.
now it’s 9:45, and I’ve made
my excuse – the dog to be fed,
I should hurry, I’m sorry. walked quick
to the car with my mind on direction
which points right through phibsborough
to tesco; the carpark outside.
the radio is tuned to a classical
station, but of course late at night
there’s no triumph to wait for; nothing with cannons
at blast or a trumpeting blare. I blare
down the road to a movement
of flutes, weave past cars, past pedestrians
carefully crossing. the sky’s dark, my car full
of lights cast by billboards and shop signs,
all hung with a stubble of shutters and water-
stained brickwork. my face flashes healthily
yellow and red in their glow.
DS Maolalai has received eleven nominations for Best of the Net, eight for the Pushcart Prize and once for the Forward Prize. His poetry has been released in three collections, most recently“Noble Rot” (Turas Press, 2022)