Biting a Penny

DS Maolalaí

source: The Independent

Biting a penny

autumn has come,
at last, bright and hard
and electric as biting
pennies. and the light
has an exciting
clean quality – open air
and clear, as if all
were now motion.
the city, from
some angles, explodes
like an overstuffed flowerpot.
from bridges, for example,
and the river;
the open space
of riverbanks –
horizon stretching out
and the colours
of wild buildings,
crashing chaos
onto chaos, cars
crumpled like coloured
handkerchiefs, over
by the side of a road.
and through it we walk
with the purpose of songbirds.
we gather on the tops
of telephone lines.
making polite
conversation, preparing
our time
to go south.

Life rising

tucking down
to a plate of eggs
toast
a bit of coffee
on a saturday morning
like plates;
flat and white. salt
scattered over
like birdshit on everything.
life rising defiance;
sinking boats,
knocking ice
off antartica.

Saltwater

most of the time
when I type out these poems
I write about things
which have happened 

and the times when I don't
I still write about them –
at least in a generous
sense; 

my life, I suppose,
is the motion of water,
bashing the rocks
which are letters –  

making shapes
as it pulls down
the tideline
which look
almost nothing
like waves.

Sunflowers 

their lines
scrape a frost
from the fresh
breath of morning,
graceful as a dancer
in the old russian
ballet. they turn
in short loops,
moving joists;
taking weight,
holding weight
as a balance.
and smithfield
is quite cold
at seven –
holes in the earth
as if dug out
by toads. the sink
of foundations. the potential
of new buildings - oak trees
and sunflowers
waving bare stems.
and walking, I delight
in the vision
of building sites
the way people
take joy
from sunflowers
grown well. I've been
to a flower-show; 
seen tables
for geraniums,
sunflowers
and second-place
tulips. never understood
the appeal. cranes
drawing bricks
up from nothing
to arrangements.
looping circles
with the steadiness
of hawks above rats.

Good luck charms

perhaps it would be better
if I had a good luck charm.
O'Hara had an arrowhead
if you believe what’s there
in Lunch Poems –
I do. perhaps things
would be good
if I had an arrowhead.
I had an interview
on Friday, and I want to get out
of my job. the interview
was online over video –
I could have fingered
my good luck charm
and nobody would have known.
played with it under
the table. turned it over, heads
upon tails – perhaps it is a coin
and not an arrowhead.
perhaps I've spent
my good luck charm
on condoms, or a packet of skittles.
given it to a beggar
on the street. perhaps I've thrown it
into a fountain – do you think that increases
the good luck of it? or perhaps
I do have a good luck
charm. maybe my wallet
is lucky. maybe my belt is –
after all, things are ok. I've had enough luck
(a good girlfriend, a good apartment,
a dog and a job
which pays well, even if I don't
like it) that I don't need
another good
luck charm. and what the hell value
did it have for O'Hara
anyway? he died
only a little older than I am
in a car crash, in hospital
with some fender in his ribs. so much
for arrowheads
anyway. so much
for good luck.

DS Maolalai has been nominated eight times for Best of the Net and four times for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, "Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden" (Encircle Press, 2016) and "Sad Havoc Among the Birds" (Turas Press, 2019). @diarmo1990