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Bull and Bullock | A Poem by Donal Mahoney

The other night abed, Father,
propped upon an elbow, dropped
and died. Earlier that week, Mother
gave me Anthony to hold when
Father threw a fist, missed

and bellowed through the door.
I did not see the biggest of them
bear him back. But at the wake
they spoke of how he ran,
fell across a fence and swayed there.

I was in another room,
giving Mother Anthony to hold,
and I remember how,
clairvoyantly for once,
she wept there.

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