a spicebag in an ushanka
under the heated carseat
before the bong hit, first of two
i am to allow myself this saturday eve
but no more
as my life tightens up i find the strength
once more to limit my excesses,
and my desires for them, to once a week
and even to drag out the glorious pain
of physical exercise
this meal bears similarities to those
storied feasts that i have shared
but is by its nature a solitary ritual
(and not merely because many of my friends have emigrated)
its contents i know like the japanese ring
i’ve worn on my finger these last five years
that slows my steering wheel’s turn
as i glide through narrow estate streets
home
perhaps as i drive here, i am reminded
of the ancient odysseys i undertook
with loved ones across northern kildare, people named after numbers and heroes and anglicisations
those not seen, or rarely seen, for years
swallowed up by this continent or that
yet they know as well as i, that here forever awaits them, newly energised
our chariot
someday they will each come back to it
and to spicebags like tonight’s
and funny hats, with partners cooler
than themselves if such a thing is
even possible
insta: grysdyeane (christian)