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Tuesday, 5 February 2013


This poem appears in "Hamish Sheaney: The Nearly-Man Of Irish Literature", on sale now via all major online bookselling sites

I walk the echoing pavements
taking in the evening air,
my tap-tap, steel-tipped boots
breaking the silence with sharp rhythms.

Left foot, right foot,
left foot, right foot,
metal toes connecting with stone,
a satisfying sound, city noise, urban tone.

But as I turn a corner, danger lurks,
unknown to me a Fido fall-out awaits
and I step in some canine poo,
one of nature’s fulsome, filthy fates.

And the tap-rhythms are all but silenced
by the town-hounds in cahoots,
I am aware of a silent footstep
from a number two on one of my boots.

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