lirik lagu john montague - the cage
my father, the least happy
man i have known. his face
retained the pallor
of those who work underground:
the lost years in brooklyn
listening to a subway
shudder the earth
but a traditional irishman
who (released from his grille
in the clarke st. i.r.t)
drank neat whiskey, until
he reached the only element
he felt at home in
any longer: brute oblivion
and yet picked himself
up, most mornings
to march down the street
extending his smile
to all sides of the good
(non~negro) neighbourhood
belled by st teresa’s church
when he came back
we walked together
across fields of garvaghey
to see hawth~rn on the summer
hedges, as though
he had never left;
a bend of the road
which still sheltered
primroses. but we
did not smile in
the shared complicity
of a dream, for when
weary odysseus returns
telemachus must leave
often as i descend
into subway or underground
i see his bald head behind
the bars of the small booth;
the mark of an old car
accident beating on his
ghostly forehead
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