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Simon McNulty

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Iky Nocky Noo

in my room i keep a haul of frogs
dredged from the river
i have placed them in plastic bags
filled with air
and tied them with string at the top
they seem to float
i wonder they don’t die

in the mornings i sweep the church
find me there alone in the middle of the week
light sings in the windows
soft clouds melting into grey light
my broom knocking along empty pews

Christ’s passion hangs above the alter everyday
— not that it makes me feel in the least uncomfortable
he is preoccupied
and there is no attempt at a cheap effect

iky nocky nocky noo
he go the way the north wind do
iky nocky nocky nen
wil e no cum bak agen

i keep a small garden by the churchyard
i grow lettuce in black soil
and my root vegetables draw upon rich marrow
but my trees are mostly old and bent
they stagger in the long grass
overburdened with themselves in summer
the leaves hide few birds
and the mortar in the old wall
has turned to moss which oozes

look for dead faces in nodding flowers

the work has become too much for one man
most of what i grow decays again
i seem to grow more and eat less each year

iky wait for frogs to die
noo plant them by the old elm
spawn frogpost
sit on frogstool
                       all day

hope to die
nen

 

Page(s) 106-107

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