For those present.

Whilst Not Paying Attention To James Joyce

I feel, in part, no longer as myself.
No longer recognizable are my
Feet below me;
-- Tweed socks, really?

Yes, they say yes, they are, yes.

I, unlike Joyce, have no qualms
With full stops. But, to think
In full thoughts belies
The Modernists’ movement:
Something about semi-
Transparent envelopes…

O to be in Londonderry,
or Derry! Dublin, County Cork, or
any other tiny green corner of
his corrupted country.

I would eat with relish some
Soda bread, perhaps even those damned
kidneys. I’d stroll along
Eccles’ Street, with waistcoast,
pocketwatch, cane in tow.