Tag: Poetry
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Prelude
I stand often on the embankment of Slievebloom Avenue, the edge of my physical horizon, watching the rasping, futtering buses seek out the Walkinstown Road to new town Tallaght. Pitch and putt, Sunday walks, mass, the missing cuckoo in the Cuckoo’s Nest, pub crisps and passing friends bonded by the bar. A new town, new mistakes,…
Martin Bridgeman 