Working a Ship Wreck

The last of the horsemen,
never left — pestilence,
the air, hung heavy,
with disease,
cancerous, cantankerous,
living breathing,
Something wrong,
with every one,
of them.

The vermin,
well at home,
in the thick, dank, damp,
carbon dioxide,
bordering on, monoxide.

The dead puppets,
moving on wires,
brown flesh, porous,
breathing, rancid negativity,
they walked around,
with guns,
in their mouths
and stank,
of dead

Categories Poetry

Gavin Bourke grew up, in the suburb of Tallaght, in West Dublin. Married to Annemarie, living in County Meath, his work broadly covers, nature, time, memory, addiction, mental health, human relationships, the inner and outer life, creating meaning and purpose, politics, contemporary and historical social issues, injustice, the human situation, power and its abuse, absurdism, existentialisms, human psychology and behaviour, truth and deception, the sociological imagination, illness, socio-economics, disability, inclusivity, human life, selfishness and its consequences, as well as urban and rural life, personal autonomy, ethics, commerce, grand schemes and the technological life, in English and to a lesser extent, the Irish Language.

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