THERE'S A SERIAL KILLER ON THE LOOSE

(For Eileen, Nancy and Marie Barrington)

I used to have three aunts

Now I have none

Not one.

Not a single spirited spinster left

To people those Tralee to Dingle

Hair-pin nights

Full of Harvey wall banger hillman impish tales.

Treacherous bends always leading to perfidious Albion.

And finally

Oliver.

Always Oliver.

Then with Cromwell cursed

Rousing choruses of West's Awake

Puttering into Ballyferriter roaring Blasket sound

Stopping off in O Cathain's for the one drink

Or the dozen

The bar packed

All drinking the syphillitic shillings from Haughey's island

Our King, our Berlusconi, our Napoleon

But no Elba for that Chieftain

That Royal Republican

Now you’re talking

Talking furious words

Crossing the Guinness border

Dumping the Bearla

Digging up the Crested Ten

Preparing the Red Breast.

Words as gaelige

Sharp as pikes

That no clock would mute

And no-one would call time on.

I used to have three aunts,

Now I have none.

Gone

Gone

Gone

Those glorious Edwardian feminists

All Percy French Germaine Greer Father Murphy

Not one of the three ever missing the chance

To set heather blazing.

I hope you are starting to get my point

I used to have three aunts

Now I have none

How much more proof does one need?

That there is a fucking serial killer on the loose

And the weird thing is

I just can't seem to get anyone to care.

And even I

-never short of a phrase or two -

Don't have the words

Within me

To talk about

Whom

I

Think

He

Has

His

Eye

On

Next

.

There is a serial killer on the loose.

I used to have three aunts.

Now I have none.