In my mind I am alighting from the 40D
On Parnell Square where
Street-sweeper dust clouds
Mingle with the oriental scents
Of chinese restaurants
And hardened Dubs huddle
Under awnings, telling stories
(Mostly about the weather)
Now down O' Connell Street,
Our little Champs-Élysées
Where poor Daniel, statuesque, looks on
As I pass by The Spire (where we first met)
That skyward reaching needle
Where the endless eager meeters
Mill about in nervous circles
Eyeing the approaching
For familiar faces in the throng
The green man clears my way
To the O'Connell bridge;
A thoroughfare where human streams
Flow like the Liffey underneath
Here, wars were fought - here, Dublin buses
Blare their rage at jaded jaywalkers
Nonchalant from lifetimes of safe crossings
Now past the arch at Trinity;
The hallowed halls...
TOM, a pale, frail little boy in a white wool cardigan stands on the sidewalk with his kindly young MOTHER.
He couldn't kill her, so he wrote her to death. With every frantic stroke and swirl of his pen he would inflict a grievous karmic injury, settling the score the only way he knew...
She kept things secret to avoid calamity
But calamity found her anyway
Mom and Pop opened their friendly local hardware store on a fine Spring day way back in 1962.
For fifty golden years they served the community's tool and timber needs with a smile.
Each day she dies a little death
In some new city
Motel, hotel, suitcase-living
Every chain the same
Executive desk & bedside lamp
Green-light keycard swipe
INT. SITTING ROOM - NIGHT
Josh and Carly sit on a sofa in a studenty apartment, cosy with girly touches. They snuggle and snack, watching a movie.
So, this is like, our fourth...