He was having a fag,

the curtains snoring 

across linoleum. 

The map of Dublin 

we’d tacked to the wall 

flapping. Small slaps 

of summer rain. 

We lived beside 

a football stadium, 

passed the restless 

hours in its lacteal glow.  

Who taught him 

vigilance? 

How? Oh man,

it’s hard to come back

here. Safety

pin lodged in curtain. 

I’d given him the power 

to make me lonely.

Which he did,

stood like this.