Summer Eve
Her lips?
As I recall,
even when she talked
her lips were slung
in a sundown surl
and there was liquor,
always liquor,
just a jigger,
in her walk.
Leprechaun’s Creed
The thing of it is,
says Johnny O,
none of us knows
whether he is
while others announce
after looking around
they beg to differ.
The thing of it is,
says Johnny O,
some would say
he’s here, he’s there,
he’s everywhere
while others would say
after looking around
no one can see him
anywhere--so how
can he be everywhere?
The thing of it is,
says Johnny O,
he’s right over where?
Let’s look around.
Shy Girl
Light ambrosia of the sun
is over all of her.
She is shy
the way the flicker
pink of rabbit eye
is shy. Within the
almond hair, cliffs
of cheek round in, where
unifies her chin.
There, two birds meet
before they carry out her smile.
Mozambique
From shimmering oil
of ebony still
will come flailing of limbs
will come hacking
quick slashing
of hands now untied
tattooing no pattern
not even a maze
depriving gray walls
of their stone
will come spittle
wild churning rivers
agush from slack jaws
of blanching gray hounds
till one day at dawn
will come quiet
Donal Mahoney, a native of Chicago, lives in St. Louis, Missouri. He has worked as an editor for The Chicago Sun-Times, Loyola University Press and Washington University in St. Louis. He has had poems published in or accepted by The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, The Beloit Poetry Journal, Commonweal, The Lesser Flamingo (France), Public Republic (Bulgaria), Revival (Ireland), The Istanbul Literary Review (Turkey), Opium 2.0, Rusty Truck, Pirene's Fountain (Australia) and other publications.
