Poison
After Gwendolyn Brooks and Terrance Hayes
We
take to the drink, wanting real
life to dampen our tongues, cool
the shame we are forced to we-
ar with guilt built in, all left
to us from him. Dul ar scoil
to learn the church’s rules, we
learn to shut mouths, minds, legs, lurk
close to home, wait until late
in life to start living. We
protest against them. We strike
them down like they do us, straight
*
up get wasted. Hear our we-
ary mothers try to sing
songs that might free us from sin –
A-ma-zee-ing Grace. They we-
ep for us their kin grown thin
from not giving a shite, gin
our favourite perfume. We
think to join in, feel that jazz
of life again but them June
days are made for drinking, we
mute their sound, they turn to die-
ts of rosaries, T.V. Soon
*
we join the rest like us, we-
lcomed we are into the real
darkness of the pub, scrubbed cool
colours paint the walls, but we
don’t look at the walls, eyes left
downcast for fear that some school
friend’s dad be holding up we-
t edges of a stool, lurk-
ing for some young wan’s time. Late-
r when we’ve spent our lot, we
goes to the likes a him, strike
up some talk with tits out straight
*
under their noses, they we-
ak them eejits, we be sing-
le, we’re not patrolling sin-
‘s committed by men, we
too busy with our own thin-
clad secrets, like how the gin
at home is watered down – we-
eks of stealing dat took! Jazz
oozes from the jukebox, June
fades outside the window, we
stay until it starts to die
down, already Sunday, soon
*
Mass be starting, not that we
bother anymore, found real
religion that don’t play cool –
you’ll get what you’re given. We
grab the bottle’s neck, get left
in pools of our own sick, school-
ed to mind ourselves – coz we-
‘ve no time for all dat! Lurk-
ing Larry’s hide in the late
afternoon shadows to we-
t us between the legs – strike
all ya want girls! We walk straight
*
passed them, they keep trying. We
see some other girls get sing-
led out, get pregnant, the sin
dripping off them, we look we-
ll away when they be thin-
king to look at us. Begin
to think about things that we-
‘ve been told, listen to jazz
music in our rooms with June
next door shouting how we owe
her some peace – go way and die!
Her gob shuts as the bassoon
*
roars the devil’s music. We
develop our taste buds, real-
ise wine looks classy, the cool
kids be drinking it, so we
form fists around the stems, cleft
our insides, move like a school
of fish, joined at the hip we
be, until we go home, lurk
through our own front doors, dilate-
d pupils in heads, too we-
ak to take d’mother’s strike
against our faces, lie straight
*
down on the carpet. There we
sleep dreamless until the sing-
ing birds move our bleary sin-
ged bodies to mirrors. We-
igh ourselves (no shoes on) – thin
girls don’t hang onto virgin-
ity long. The fella’s we-
dge between us, shove their jazz-
ing hands down our skirts, the June
heat hot against our heads we-
lded to the wall, us die-
hards wanting it over soon-
*
er rather than later, we
don’t look into their eyes, real-
ly we’d rather catch the cool
stares of other girls, a we-
llspring of poker faces left
to drown outside of the school
system, taught us nothing we
could use against filthy lurk-
ers, or what to do with late
periods, or how come we-
‘d never be wealthy – strike
us down for we have strayed straight
*
off the path most chosen. We
won’t marry any man, sing
children to sleep or get sin-
gled out for promotion. We
will live backed against walls, thin-
king of dreams we had of begin-
ning again, all along we
knew we’d never see a jazz
band, another clear blue June
sky or hear our mother’s we-
ak, how sweet the sound. We die
soon.
©Emer Lyons
Emer Lyons is an Irish writer who has had poetry and fiction published in journals such as Turbine, London Grip, The New Zealand Poetry Society Anthology, Southword, The Spinoff and Queen Mob’s Tea House. She has appeared on shortlists for the Fish Poetry Competition, the Bridport Poetry Prize, the takahé short story competition, The Collinson’s short story prize and her chapbook Throwing Shapes was long-listed for the Munster Literature Fool For Poetry competition in 2017. Last year she was the recipient of the inaugural University of Otago City of Literature scholarship and is a creative/critical PhD candidate in contemporary queer poetry.
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