The wild sleepless nights of late middle age. by Mick Corrigan

Some shithead shouting out in the dark,

offering to fight his neighbours or the moon.

Anxiety murmurating beneath respectable roofs,

sleepless over block-chain technology, crypto currencies

and the essential thread count of expensive, cotton sheets.

The night-light odyssey of people who don’t wave when they’re drowning.

A samurai sword and a giant tv, proud on a lilac coloured bedroom wall,

each mocking the other as a wolf ghost raises her muzzle to the air.

In the pagan fields at the foggy gather

of those who died from blind optimism

and unshakeable faith,

a small bird trapped in a barren tree

heart fluttering against the ageing ribs.

Beside the tidal river of sleep

a wild hare on the winter grass

dark eyed and ethereal,

sleek, agile, ancient

before a new made sun.

Mick Corrigans’ debut collection, “Deep Fried Unicorn”, was released in to the wild in early 2015 by Rebel Poetry, Ireland. His poem “Snowbound” has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize 2018 by San Pedro Review, USA, his poem “If Harry Clarke made a stained-glass window for the Magdalene Women” has been nominated for a Forward Poetry Prize 2018 by Poetry Bus 7, Ireland. He spends his time as though he has an endless supply of it, between Ireland and the island of Crete. He plans to do wild and reckless things with his hair before it’s too late.