Storm Clouds

Thick black clouds hang over Howth harbour

As a low pressure cyclone drifts across the sea

Back at the class room I am being taught

A valuable lesson in algebra I will never understand

Under bright florescent lighting, amid grey tiles.

At lunch time I race back on my black mountain bike to the house

Tucking into white bread and cup a soup as the rain escalates

Banging against the singular kitchen window pane.

Up in Binn Eadair the cliffs are deserted

And the wild gorse is longing for summer

Visibility is scarce as the storm continues

Salt water violating the rocks

Creating a ripple effect just beside the waters edge

Then the current retreats and rips

Everything in sight back out to sea.

In English class I learn how shylock lost his pound of flesh

Alone, bewildered, outcast.

And that was it

With a waving gesture from the back door

You slipped quietly, away from this world

All they ever found of you was a

Buckle belt covered in plastic 

3 months later, with a smell of sea water

The silver part tarnished to brown from the rust

All across the country storm clouds are brewing

But nobody ever expects it to rain.