Kerr’s Ass (the speed of air travel has rendered the term ‘exile’ melodramatic) Patrick Kavanagh

We borrowed the loan of Kerr’s big ass

To go to Dundalk with butter

Brought him home the evening before the market

An exile that night in Mucker

We keeled up the cart before the door,

We took the harness inside –

The straw-stuffed straddle,

The broken breeching

With bits of bull-wire tied;

The winkers that had no choke band

The collar and the reins….

In Ealing Broadway London Town

I name their several names

Until a world comes to life-

Morning, the silent bog,

And the god of imagination waking 

In a Mucker fog,


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