Years of coming & going,
two or three months at a time

I still couldn’t tell you where
D’Olier Street is or Aungier.

Only my feet know Dublin.
Shops disappear. I am old.

I remember back to no
cappuccino. Idiot

who thinks Grogan’s is heaven.
I look for friends on the streets.

Another poet’s dying &
I feel them whose universe

revolves around those who are
desperately in love with

their city I’ll never know.
On these streets, I walk humbly.

Today’s poem is from David Gardiner’s collection Skenographia, recently published by Salmon