An Fhorrach Liath

Not Kealfoun or woody Crough,

Ashtown of the ash trees, Mahon of the coomb,

not Graiguerush, Kilclooney, 

Currabaha West or East

can hold a flame for that terrain

known as Furraleigh.

There are rabbits there, like everywhere,

like all the townlands 'round.

But grey ones without just can't compare 

to the ones within its bounds.

The grey place has big black rabbits,

uncloaked for all to see.

There they live, there they persist,

in exotic Furraleigh.

Man And Dog

The waiting-room man

told me about his fifteen-year-old

sheepdog, recently attacked

by a vicious roving canine.

I felt guilty as I sat

waiting for the pampered cat

to be boostered and elicit delight.

Across me to his man

leapt a glossy exuberant dog.

A whole animal

with an energy I coveted.

The plastic cone in place

now the only trace

of how that life had hung by a thread.