It’s better,
not to go home today,
I believe

The sky rolled landwards
in slushy blue and
seagulls sailed dumb straight to
Ireland’s Eye while men
coiled up wet lines
moored up choppy boats and
spit sightlessly unto the ground

The fisherman
was the same who heard
voices and the people say that
he believed in mermaids, too

Yet this interested either
the heaven nor the seagulls
and even not the men

The fisherman
shut his eyes

Believe it or believe it not

The men laughed and slipped
the cap into the neck

O, Patrick, tell us the
story of the blue lobster

The fisherman kept in silence

As if you’re knowing it better -

And the men moved home