Houlihan's Wake by Bryan Murphy - HTML preview

Leaking Grail

Early jacaranda colours the scented air,

wrought-iron benches massage our jet-lag

in a round village square centred

on a bunting-bedecked bandstand.

Lakewards, a man above a shop strikes

hammer blows to the façade below his feet;

its bright brick and stucco crumble. Roadwards,

work-gangs sweat to inch the grey innards

of a foetus hotel higher. Southwards,

the silver water that lures us ageing gringos

recedes to ease the thirst of Megalopolis,

while invasive hyacinth stakes out more metres

for its final resting place.