George Looney
Two Poems From Kinsale

Study in Motion with Ruins

Dusk, & wind picking up. A gull
impersonates a mime, hanging
without wing beats. The sky, looking tired,
twitches. A small sail boat, anchored
for weeks in one spot, looks to be
abdicating to the waves. This is no still life,

except for the ruins that can’t keep wind
from coming on. The inevitable
loon cries out & is gone under waves
as if it knows something the gull,
focused on its mime act, needs
to know. Wind’s not to be trusted.

Púcaí & Pop Music

If in Kinsale a raven follows you home
& croons a fifties love song from America
on the rain-etched ledge
of your bedroom window, say
your prayers more fervent, or when
you sleep you’ll dream a rapaciousness

of ravens lifting you into a feathered sky.
The local púca, it’s said,
likes old pop music from the states.
If one of the stray mutts that sun
outside the victuallers’ says your name
as you pass, you’re good as bone.

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