THE WORST NIGHTMARE

There were days when you’d shove
your hand into a cupboard in search of a cabbage
and come upon the head of Alfredo Garcia

others when you’d thread a needle
and imagine you were darning a hole
out of which the evil of the world could escape

and times when you’d press a knob on the oven
and conjure the six million
naked, shorn in the shower.

But at night the curtains drawn,
the door locked and bolted
you felt safe, yourself and your care.

No matter how many horror stories
you sidled into your mind
you never imagined this nightmare –

you lived in a democracy, yourself
and your care, under an elected government,
who cherished each citizen

far from the laboratories of jackbooted men.

An Tromluí Is Troime

An Tromluí Is Troime

Laethanta áirithe agus do lámh á sá
isteach sa chófra ar thóir cabáiste
thagtá ar chloigeann Alfredo Garcia.

Laethanta eile is tú i mbun dearnála
mheabhraítí duit duibheagán
as a bhféadfadh olc an domhain éalú.

Scaití agus cnaipe an oighinn á chasadh
chuimhníteá ar na sé mhilliún -
nocht bearrtha sa chithfholcadh.

Ach istoíche na cuirtíní tarraingthe
is an glas ar an doras
bhraiteá slán, tú féin is do chúram.

Ba chuma cá mhéad scéal scanrúil
a shleamhnaíodh isteach id chloigeann
níor taibhríodh duit an tromluí seo –

bhí cónaí ort i ndaonlathas,
tú féin is do chúram, faoi rialtas iontaofa
a chaomhnaíodh gach saoránach

i bhfad ó shaotharlanna fhir na seacbhuataisí.