Buffoon in a flowery shirt
Bastard, you took a piece of my life, screwed it
into a younger version, razed, ripped, torn apart
Bastard, you took the piano, the silent hall
echoes torment, tears, spartan space
And bastard, I cursed you harshly at night
closed the outside light, curled like a gnarled arthritic hand
Damn you, big shot, deluded at the apex
of your own illusions, a buffoon; child seats, schools
Who are you now, living under hollow pretence
is it greener on your side?
Your flowery shirts, an over-compensation
the rise and fall of a default man
Ill-fitting skinny jeans, Gen Z or millennial
you are not, they won’t make you younger
Long hair, an ageing rocker, who never made it
your fondness for the old wedding cake, three slices so far
Unbroken, I begin to steal it back,
middle aged fool.
I secretly don’t envy you anymore.
Hannah Kiely is from Galway. Kiely completed an MA in writing at NUIG in 2020. She has been published in Vox Galvia, RTE Sunday Miscellany, Pendemic.ie and has been a featured reader on Over The Edge.