Talking shit about dinosaurs

the road to drumkeeran

becomes narrow

from dublin

as the space

between cruelty

and a very good

friend, the space

between rocks

and the fossil. once

we were up there

on a three day long

bender – this was me

jack and aodhain –

went out to the river

and aodhain spent

the whole time

pulling shells off

the edges of mud-

stone which flaked

to the touch. it's amazing

to watch, though

we didn't let on –

like a talented fisherman

and trout playing

drums on a pier.

jumping rocks over

water with trousers on

and slapping your hand

against clay. going under

the bridge of the road

just for something to do

in the daylight before

you get drinking.

finding someone behind you

sinking fingers through mud

into millions of years and then

coming out holding stone

like a louse from a haircut, a grey

curling diamond, slick

clinging river-water, silver.

of course later on, sitting back

at the house, we lay in talking

shit about dinosaurs – just

to annoy him while we got

into wine bottles, walked

to the village for guinness

in real guinness glasses.

"no, of course, it's a wonderful

fossil, of course – wait, how much

did you say brendan makes

mining diamonds? and you

went to college with him

for 8 years? was it 9?"