THE ISLAND

The Grand Parade in Cork resembling Venice ,

in the flooding of the last few days.

ANOTHER DELUGE

.

The water rushed in
Set free from the broken banks,
Submerging domestic life
In it’s swaddling ooze.
.
Stranded upstairs
Land dwellers look out to sea
Where lately lawns were trimmed,
And streams of murky brown
Torrent through the garden swing.
.
Dogs and cattle call
Alarmed at this fluid pasture
While experts crow again
Of changing climate
And further plans of action.
.
Meanwhile the island sinks
Beneath swamped hopes
And tidal waves of disappointment.
.
What Ark will now save us
From these foolish habitations
Built on the shifting sands
Of our heart-wrenched plains.
.

Gerard O'Shea