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A Picture of Moore Street After the Market

eggshells white and yolk all smashed
and the pavement is cracked and it's spring
all over the place:
crashed grapes green and purple
crashed fruit juice and goo
lettuce turnips half-rotten
nothing's foul all is well
and the pidgeons pick crumbs
from the cobbles
and the toddlers chase birds
all the fish from the sea are half-rotten
and the lilac is long before bloom
all the world here
in people with eyes, hands and faces
why, the houses are old and
decay's in the red-brick facades
other signs are on grapes and potatoes
now they're bare and there's stalks on the cobbles
some signs still on padraic and james
and the stalls were in bloom
nothing's foul all is foul
demolition
and their voices a bare dublin tune
i would stand in one hand a gashed apple
in the other a brick and i'd stand
fiercely, proud like the glow of this evening --
and then the light recedes -
i'm going home.