I am eighteen when my eyes
first fall upon the light
reflected in Sartre’s
little white book.
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The curate sat across from me
on this Dublin single-decker,
taps a finger on my thigh;
and is that you I see,
crouched behind his gaze,
steering like a numskull?
He strokes the Methuen away.
It lands between us on the sticky floor.
You really should prefer Camus,
the curate says. Albert’s one of ours.
Patrick Chapman's works include A Promiscuity of Spines: New & Selected Poems (Salmon, 2012)
