July In Bettystown

When the linen flaps open

With its east coast view of the Mournes,

And Ian Fleming novelettes

Hide in a pile of fragrant clothes,

There is always the sea -

That reeling silence on a line,

And the clay like ground tarragon,

With its stench of burnished brine.

And always the hint of fire,

The thatch in its myriad parts,

And the air full of black-tailed grass

That some times has red hearts.

From Working for the Government by Gerard Fanning published this month by The Dedalus Press.