Somebody’s Mother Asleep

by DS Maolalai


the guts of the summer

sun me into rubble,

bombs dropping on dublin

and knocking walls open

like bricks

thrown through broken windows.


on the street

a bedroom floor

hangs out

and a chair

tilts in the wind

with somebody’s mother

asleep there.


the city

is hot as hell

with not enough bread

and a glass of milk


for 20 quid

and the knuckle of your index finger.


my feet

feel the pavement

hot through my shoes.

like trying

to stand

on a stovetop.


the world,

when it ends,

will be quick as draining a bathtub,

cruel as a cat

curling around corners

and coming upon a family

blind of baby mice.



DS Maolalai is a poet from Ireland who has been writing and publishing poetry for almost 10 years. His first collection, Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden, was published in 2016 by the Encircle Press, and he has a second collection forthcoming from Turas Press in 2019. He has been nominated for Best of the Web and twice for the Pushcart Prize.