And Still Inside They Live And Die
By sean mcnulty
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No playground howl, no nascent sound
Had blessed that house in Castletown
Not since the fire of ‘55
Had those walls heard a child alive
When Bobby, born in gin and spite
Would never grow to share delight
Or laugh and fight over toys and sweets
Or play outside in sooty streets
Future couples had no chance
In that house of fevered song and dance
For although it had been reconstructed
Alas, it stayed evermore corrupted
They could not see but Bobby crawled
Upstairs downstairs indeed he bawled
‘I want a friend,’ the phantom bark
‘A tiny living counterpart
To laugh and bicker alongside
As loneliness has now prescribed’
‘We can’t conceive,’ the couples cried
It’s true that many tried and tried
And Bobby, well, he did not know
That relationships might cease to grow
A theory goes the house was cursed
Long before its plausible worst
And most concede wee Bobby’s need
Disturbed the traditional target seed
But then one day a pair appeared
The husband had a satanic beard
Mr and Mrs Miller on stage
(who’d apparently hung with Jimmy Page)
These two were absolutely bent
On producing their own little gent
And sought the service of a local witch
Mrs Debra Radovic
Who donated a spell for making babies
In exchange for whiskey, rum, and baileys
Wee Bobby saw their affectation
Yet gladly welcomed the incantation
For all he wanted was a little friend
Someone who could comprehend
Amon they named him, a beautiful boy
Who the Millers immediately deployed
To bring with luck to boundless rights
Bobby the tiresome poltergeist
It worked, it seemed, oh like a charm
For gradually Bobby was disarmed
As all his dreams they did come true
Laughing and bickering through and through
Best friends forever, they did become
Though that never lasts for anyone
And eventually Bobby’s spirit drifted
And the curse it seemed to have been lifted
Though some in town would remark
That curse was indelible, a birthmark
Especially as Amon later failed
At school, in politics, wound up in jail
For property scandals, bribes and rates
Yes, he fathered some ghost estates
Yet for all the empty homes around
That house still exists on Castletown
And still inside they live and die
And live and die and live and die
And live and die
And live and die and live and die
And live and die
And live and die and live and die
And live and die
And live and die
And live and die
And live and
Die
And live and
Die and
Live and die and live and die
And live
And die and
Live and
Die
And
Live
And die and
Live and die
And live
And die and
Live and
Die
And
Live
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Comments
That's a searing poem, Sean.
That's a searing poem, Sean. I like the way the refrain at the end trails away. I can hear you reading this especially the ending. [And good luck with the launch of your new novella. Can't wait to read it]
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This spectacular poem is our
This spectacular poem is our Facebook and Twitter Pick of the Day
Please share/retweet if you enjoy it too
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Nicely done, Sean. I like the
Nicely done, Sean. I like the undertone of menace.
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