(First published in Revival, and Change in the Wind)
For days, then weeks
running into years
I shuttled to and from work,
slowly weaving a web of habit
that constrained by mind,
continued my dire existence.
Then one day, I set out to work
to a job that was there no longer,
and I saw a tank full of petrol,
that would not be used in dribs and drabs,
a tank of two hundred miles or more
that I would use
use it all . . . in one unrationed day.
So I drove,
drove west, racing ahead of the morning sun
imaging myself as the herald of a new day,
every arrival a new beginning
and when I reached the sea I stopped
where it has always been,
waiting without complaint for my return,
waiting within for its time to rise.
©Copyright Niall OConnor