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Tuesday, July 12, 2016

Poetry By Donal Mahoney

Poetry by Donal Mahoney

Caseworker Determining Eligibility

                  Cabrini-Green Projects
                  Chicago, 1963

The child, age two, hammocked in the half
moon of his mother’s arms, is locked
in palsy, yet moves an eyelid as I ask,
moves the other as his mother answers,
application form interrogation.
The father was a white policeman.
“Curiosity,” the mother says. “No more.
I didn’t go with him for money.”


Donal Mahoney


Birds of Paradise


As you move toward the door
to open it so I may leave
I notice how your Levis cage

the anacondas of your thighs.
One more move like that, I say,
and I’ll toss my briefcase to the floor

and bring you yipping to the couch
and kiss your breasts until they rise
like startled Birds of Paradise.


Donal Mahoney


Quicksand of that Good Woman


Earlier than ever this morning 
I wait for copy to vacuum. 
It must be free of error
and the deadline is near.
But what matters today isn’t news 
about war, poverty or race riots 
ripping the city.
What matters today 
is the warm quicksand
of that good woman 
under me again,
taking me in. 
Let her writhe,
let her tug at her knees, 
let her legs go off
in every direction. 
Let her take what I have
and lunge for more. 
I’ll be here forever,
a bee crazed by the honey
buttering her thighs.

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