Cornamady

Frankie Quinn with a poem from his book Open Gates.CornamadyThe sound of burning whin stumpsCracked like gun shots in the darkening roomThe dog rested its head across Granda’s feetIts paws twitching with muffled barksThe smell of cow dungMixed with trickles of smokeIt hung in the warm air an invisible mist.A moth flicking its wings off the bare bulbThrobbing with the generator’s heartbeat.♞♜♝A