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Listowel by David Subacchi


To arrive mid-morning

Luggage crammed onto back seat

And stuffed into tiny boot,

Wound down windows

In the climbing sun

Filling the windscreen

Dazzling tired eyes.

And to see horses

Standing at the kerb

On both sides

Waiting casually

Shifting when prodded

To tempt a purchaser

Or just show willing.

Listowel of little shops,

An Auctioneer’s

That also sells beer,

Wine and whiskey;

A hum of dealers,

The cut and thrust

Of parting with money.

And to park somewhere

Free of restriction

Alongside another bar

Its doors flung open,

Hot soup welcoming,

A row of pints

Lined up waiting.

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