q1
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
q2 under my window…
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging.
q3 (by god..)
By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.
q4 my grandfather cut…
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
q5 the cold smell…
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat,
q6 but i have no…
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.
q7
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.