A Suit For The Sculptor

for Eamon ODoherty

In the back door of Arnott’s,
The cheap end;
Past everything for the hyper-active
To a murmuration of suits;
And there it is –
Hanging out the invitation:
Subtlest of Scottish tweed,
In neat and soft smoked edges;
Asks for touch.
Fingerme lapels, no swagger,
Just a hint of seductive arrogance.

When you wear it to the pub tonight
To shuffle the hot grid of admiration,
Remember to say (suitably modest)
Yes! I am the Artist
And I bought it for a song.
/ i \
l 1

Honor O Brolchain