Poetry: Selections from J.P. Sexton



Roadside Cannibals

The first time
I saw a car
being eaten
was on the Long Island Expressway
driving Eastwards
to bed
after working
all night in Queens.
 
It looked
quite roadworthy
except for the fact
it had no wheels.
Perched precariously
on cement blocks
four square wheels
going nowhere fast.

The next night
headed West,
I saw it again.
Without doors or seats.
Though I never witnessed
a parts thief
strip-mining
their quarry.
 
Yet, they must
have come and went
about their business
seen by hordes.
The burned out
transparent shell
a scorched corpse
for my farewell view.
 
The blackened body
still smoldered
like a vessel
bound for Valhalla.
A Viking funeral
not meant to be
cement block wheels
cannot reach the sea.



Outrun the Night

The Banshee needs
not waste
her cries
on me.
I cry alone.
 
In the deep throes
of night
on side streets
I fight
for my life.
 
Time bleeds out
in the darkness.
Morning straggles
and limps
With an anemic pulse.





J.P. Sexton grew up on a peninsula in North Donegal, Ireland. He has been writing poetry and short stories since he was a boy. He has been published in The Irish Times, The Garda Review Magazine and The Connaught Telegraph. In 2016 his memoir; The Big Yank - Memoir of a Boy Growing Up Irish, was published and in 2018, he co-authored a book of Irish stories called; Four Green Fields: Wild Irish Banter & Stories, Shenanigans & Poetry. He is currently editing the sequel to TBY.

Comments

  1. The two poems need to be read out loud; rhythm is right; brief words; large image! So Grand J. P. Sexton -- bring more.

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