DONALL DEMPSEY

DONALL DEMPSEY

SPEECHLESS

( for B. B. )

The page looked at me

blankly.

The words gathered

inside my head

but refused to

come out.

'Sorry mate...

we're on strike! '

'But why...? '

I cried.

'Do I have to spell it out

for you? '

'Write...write...write! '

'That's all you do! '

'You 'ave us up

all bloody night

it just ain't right! '

'No...I...don't! '

I lied...blatantly.

'Oh...who was that sentence

I saw you with last night? '

'That was no sentence...that was

my haiku! '

'And those poor vowels

...the howls! '

'Look, mate...we're consonants

so we can take it but

...a vowel's a vowel! '

'Now, it's just

our luck

that we're gone & got

ourselves an Irish poet

who is prone

to a little

internal vowel

rhyme! '

'Assonance! '

I said.

'Bless you Guv but

I don't cares wot you'se call it! '

'All we hear all night long is

O...E...I...U! '

And with that

they left

the whole bloody

alphabet

absailing out of my head

marching down

my forearm

the whole bloody platoon

now on my patella

now turning at the door

saying: 'See ya fella! '

'Call yourself...call yourself

a bloody poet! '

they jeered

'We're off to Bryan Baker's

head! '

'Now...there's a poet! '

Slam!

The door was silent.

They were gone.

I was...

...I was

...speech-less!

DONALL DEMPSEY