HIS MOTHER SAID.
Mother tanned his backside
For peeing in the box of toys,
Her large hand, he remembered,
Whacking the dust from his short
Trousers and the devil from his
Soul, or so she had said, and that
Memory lingering in his head,
Lounging amongst the brain cells
Like a young delinquent bored
To hell on Dublin street corners.
Don’t let me ever, she had said,
See you doing that again, her
Voice pinging his ears, the
Backside holding onto the pain,
And he seeing her storm off into
The kitchen with skirt all a flare
With friction and the bright sun
Setting light to her dark brown hair.
