Racing against the rails, they said,
Real-time in a sunshine barrel, and
I’ll quarrel with the very man who took
The bread from the starving calves.
Carved, what with the swine, we find,
Tommy’s unworn boots, from a firing squad,
Padded from the feets of the shores, two
World wars won; in record time, real-time
The boasted made from a murky march,
Parched, we take the wine from the sick,
Quicken the death of the hungry cub.
The butter is better served large,
We carved together with France, a treaty,
Weeding the weak from the prey, we prayed,
For another feed for the few who’d never Hunted,
bar for a little while.
Time had Provided us well, with a grass laden meal,
In the endless fields, streets and barrows,
Tomorrow’s meal feeling our way in the grass,
And thus we dined in our own way. Glittered
The memory of a special collision when three
Pounds sixty would condition the sick in
A wheeled prison. We’d dine in a moment
Eoghan Lyng is an Irish man and sometime writer. He lives in Glasgow, having written from the perspective from Cork, Madrid and Prague. He has written for OutlawPoetry, VadaMagazine and FromTheLighthouse.