I was five and stood beside my dad
at a junction somewhere in Dublin
when I slipped my hand in his
and met the red end of a cigarette
but now our hearts are broken
we walk down to the Braeside
where we can get a proper pint
and his voice tears up a bit
about the emptiness in the house
and we are going home, waiting
at the turn for the traffic, when I find
I have to stop my hand from taking his
_______________________________________
“Silk Cut” reprinted from Feel Free: Poems. Copyright © 2019 by Nick Laird. Used with permission of the publisher, W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. All rights reserved.
