Rituals XIV. By John Doyle

A sullen amen for scattered fruits

that leer in vine-yard sands,

Sesame-Street sunshine,

tarmac treacle-like on sneaker's soles

in Daly City -

a sighed glory be 

for the lost-side of Heaven 

I pee-shoot my simple prayers to;

I bite before I get bitten -

therefore I am.

I raise my thumb

like veterans in closing tv sequences

from the mid 1980s when America

stopped fetishizing that war;

a car pulls in - arachnid posture,

tattooed bare-knuckled boy

that music leaves another man to sing about.

I've found a new muse,

I'll keep it sealed under lock and sun-dried lip,

this, my beautiful America, is the new curriculum  

John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch.

He is based in Maynooth, County Kildare, Ireland. All he asks is that you leave your guns at the door and tie up your horses before your enter.