End Matter

i. You’re at the postscript stage,* I read.
What to say but sorry, thank you,
blessings, praise?

ii. Have you done all you could?
All that was in you to do?
Please leave the house tidy.

iii. I used to ask, who was I
to talk about the moon, war,
the bickering of men in the city?
But if not me, awkward, inept,
mostly foolish, who?

iv. The furniture of the house needs renewing.
The furniture of my heart and mind, ditto.

v. Forget purple.
Think cashmere.

vi. What to do with the smallness of my life
is such an enormous question.

*Dennis O’Driscoll