by D.S. Maolalai
my lights are gone dark now.
my days are less long
as they bend into summer’s
loose pantleg. this house points north,
onto train tracks and across them
to a disused and falling down fruit market,
constantly on the verge of demolition
or development. I’ve been leaving
the lights off. daylight will
get in some way. now flowers die
in their pots. birds die
on footpaths, wings broken,
tumbled like the ribs
of umbrellas, or else compact and dirty
as lost tennis balls by a wet dogpark
fence. I’m smoking more lately, thinking more
about money; the house, the new
car, groceries, beer and tax on the spare
bedroom rental. we’re trying it out.
today I bought a bottle
of wine, some beer and a net of fresh oranges
for just over twenty five euros.
the dog is exhausted
after walks around the block.
I finish a beercan on capel st
and hand it away to a guy
I see working through litterbins
with a plastic shopping bag
limp in one hand,
hunting for empties to return.
DS Maolalai has been described by one editor as "a cosmopolitan poet" and another as "prolific, bordering on incontinent". His work has nominated thirteen times for Best of the Net, ten for the Pushcart and once for the Forward Prize, and has been released in three collections; "Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden" (Encircle Press, 2016), "Sad Havoc Among the Birds" (Turas Press, 2019) and “Noble Rot” (Turas Press, 2022)
January House Literary Journal 
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