by Brian Builta
Belfast
You’ve got to earn the strong Cuban coffee
With a sevenfold walk down the tow path,
Water blooming as sweat-enhanced dogs pant
Jigs and reels to make mum proud. The wrap
With blood pudding and egg and vegetarian guts
Is a crowd-pleaser among the thrum of women
Under hats, hair curling to escape the oppressive dome
As musicians ply the airwaves with mediocre renditions
Of old standards. Jerry the fishmonger
Tells a tale of David Beckham over hake and salmon
Offering a family to pay off their mortgage
For a five-day stay in Port Rush
During the Open, golf being the best way
To beat a ball down a patch of grass
In the broad daylight as ballwatchers stand
Amazed at the skill and swagger
With which men whack. This is why
We wane as the day juggles along like a clown
At a funeral, fish on ice, cheap trinkets
Marked up for Americans who see
Volume as an ever-expanding commodity
Like 2.4 ounces of sunshine
In a carry-on bag for just such an occasion.
Brian Builta lives in Arlington, Texas, and works at Texas Wesleyan University in Fort Worth. His work has been published in North of Oxford, Hole in the Head Review, South Florida Poetry Journal, New Ohio Review, TriQuarterly, and 2River View, among others.
Little Leaf Literary Journal 