Poems by Danny Fahey

September 6, 2003

The Old Wolf

Purple, bloated,
Half-submerged and never drowned
In alcohol;
Flesh beckons
And he bays to the moon –
How swiftly
The young boy’s adventures
Litter the mind
Of an adult.

As Months Pass

In limbo
You swim
Bedazzled by our dreams…
Mine, technicolour catastrophes –
So much could go wrong!
Your mother’s – her first kiss
(and the smell of your scalp).
And you?
What dreams do you dream
As you swim in that ocean of possibility?
Are your dreams prescient lessons
To help with the preparation?
We wait,
Your mother and I
Bloated with expectation
While you kick,
Silently swimming towards us.

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