Bonus Poem
'Sublet'
Within their rented lives I am the gate at all hours,
footsteps on the stairs that might wake their child.
I am a spare set of clothes in the box-room wardrobe,
a misremembered name, the cistern's muffled hum,
a sliver across the landing that widens and shuts over.
I am a temporary measure until things pick up,
a cousin from the west if the landlord asks,
a couple of used notes in advance on the telly
that come as a godsend in the middle of the month.
I am a wafer-thin book that was left by mistake
one weekend on the table, the latest running joke
with her sister, his mother, a reason to whisper.
I am a strange alarm clock, the lukewarm kettle,
a cup no one else uses upside-down by the sink,
the missing inch of milk, a change of plan in red ink
on the back of a napkin. I am a half-minute lull
as the house holds its breath, a rustle in the hall,
the front door slamming onto mid-morning rain.
-Conor O'Callaghan
For more on Conor O'Callaghan go to:
http://www.pgil-eirdata.org/html/pgil_datasets/authors/o/OCallaghan,C/life.htm
