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MICHAEL SHEEHAN

 

 

 

 

 

michael sheehanMichael Sheehan was born in Limerick in 1967, where he lived until his early twenties. After a brief period in Dublin, he settled in Cork, where he has lived since. He has had his poetry published in Revival, THE SHOp, and Southword.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Setanta

 

I could have killed him that evening,

The almighty, fucking fuss he caused.

Alarms going off all over the place,

Security barking into radios,

The dogs worked up and baying for blood

And all because he’d arrived late,

In the dark, like a thief or assassin.

Luckily for him he was family

(My sister’s cocky little brat)

Nephew of the high-king, the big kahuna,

That bought him some leeway.

I mean – to kill the dog –

And not just any dog,

But Cullen’s prized pet,

A huge, pedigreed Doberman,

By pucking a small hard ball

Past those snarling teeth into the back

Of his fucking throat, throttling him.

I thought Cullen would explode in temper

And was wondering how I’d quench it

When Setanta, arrogant out, said

He’d work off the cost of the dog

Or work till a replacement was found.

Work at what, says I, my voice gone

All incredulous and high;

Security, he replied,

Or apprentice hound, whatever.

That was a few years ago now

And I’ll have to hand it to him,

It’s worked out really well,

They’ve even given him some pet-names,

Like Lap-dog, Wolf-boy, Cullen’s hound;

And all that seems to be bothering him now

Is which one of these will follow him round?

 

 

 

 

©2013 Michael Sheehan

 

 

 

Author Links

 

'Byrne's Cove, Kilkee' and 'Morning Unlock': two poems in Southword (Issue 22)

'Châtaeu Haut Gay': a poem in Southword (Issue 23)

 

 

 

 

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