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90

July 21, 2016 Barbara Clinton
 By Finglas artist Paul Hopkins

By Finglas artist Paul Hopkins

My name is Kathleen, Kate to most

who want to know me. To some?

I am tiresome, old, bent out of shape

in form and demeanour.


I have lived in Finglas forever,

since my first breath in the old cottage,

in the village as it was, back then

Mother was alive until I was 12.

 

Scarred; my future turned me

sour to life’s precious time.

Like having my 6, well, 8 when I think

of 2 still…still it broke me.

 

Roger abandoned me, my weak husband

left me alone.

I don’t want to think,

or recall harsh words spilt,

 

like a baptism drenched in a struggle

to get by, each day those nosey bitches

sneered, scoffed…can’t hold her man,

Them! Them that wore the marks of rough love,

 

I did not miss. So I raised my lot, to respect even

the ignorant mouths, jawed open

In the hunger the swallowed pride

on the queue outside the dinner house.

 

Many an empty belly filled, its ache

Lingers, now they are reared strong

In some ways, they carry scars,

I know so well.

Bob Shakeshaft ©

 

 

 

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