The Cribs

The Cribs

Purveyors of fine food since God knows when,
O’Connor’s have them lined up on their display
along with scores of angels and reindeer.

Michelin clouds are drifting from the glen,
dragging their bulk and leaking all the way,
impaling themselves onto a chapel spear.

What is it in a crib for a farmer’s son?
He saw it all, cows and sheep, foot-and-mouth scare,
wise men in pubs and Josephs on the run.
Christmas in Ireland is a sad affair,

merging into the Flood. And every year
he expects this crib to turn into an Ark,
to sprout masts and sails, and to embark
on a journey through the Main Street towards the Square.