june

June in Ballyclare

It is Monday and I’m up in Ballyclare

The green world’s covered with a frock of white

The hawthorn hedges bursting in a river of champagne ,

of Cava and of Chardonnay , the froth among the rushes is flowing through the spikes

The bubble and the hush of running water over stones

Cow parsley in a boiling tide

Is rising up in towering and crashing waves of foam

And wild parsnips shake their woolly heads , the colour of old bone

the world’s exploding silently

the cattle , resting stomachs on the ground
are regurgitating , chewing ,
languid in the heavy air

As if this all this was normal

and they know what’s going on but hardly care

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::   A.G. 03/06/2019