Your man, says the Man, will walk into the bar like this — here his
Mimic a pair of legs, one stiff at the knee — so you’ll know exactly
What to do. He sticks a finger to his head. Pretend it’s child’s
The hand might be a horse’s mouth, a rabbit or a dog. Five
Walls have ears: the shadows you throw are the shadows you
try to throw off.
I snuffed out the candle between finger and thumb. Was it the
Hacked off at the wrist and thrown to the shores of Ulster?
Exist? Or the Right Hand of God, saying Stop to this and No
My thumb is the hammer of a gun. The thumb goes up. The
thumb goes down.
(Poetry by Ciaran Carson)
Belfast poet wins top award