.
ALONG A FEW IRISH
BACK ROADS
Roads, rocks, rain -
glimpses of sunshine -
clouds in muddy mirror potholes -
wind rushing to dry off the meadows
and push away the gray mist -
so the tourists can see out the windows
of their big buses - and be nosy
about who's who in these white washed thatched homes of their great, great grandparents - who had no food
on their tables as they suffered
the Great Famine and the troubles - but now these homes are the castle
and the palace of their rich, mind you,
rich distant DNA cousins - singing and dancing here on this green - green, -
rain, rain - everyday island called Ireland.
© Andy Costello, Reflections,
2018
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