I wrote this poem after visiting Cassidy’s Pub in Dublin with my writing group. Many of us were thinking and talking about Brexit, holding our breaths almost, waiting to see what the outcome would be. The old history surrounded us all, from Michael Collins running down the halls there, to the Peace Accord made manifest, and the Garden of Remembrance across from our writing. It’s a fine corner of Dublin to visit on Parnell Street, and Cassidy’s is a fine place to be with friends to be as well.
Cassidy’s Pub on O’Connell Street
It meant nothing more than a pint
in the pub. We chatted over pints,
briefcases and handbags stowed,
sweaters and raincoats tossed over
chairs. Francis said Michael Collins
frequented Cassidy’s Pub. Collins arrived
from Cork and put his own life
into the wind. Now on O’Connell Street
people on benches rest and reflect
in The Garden of Remembrance, created
for children of Ireland in the coming times, an
inheritance for coming generations of hope.
Our mythology, children changed to swans,
is manifest into bronze form, the Word is made
Sacred. Our time is transforming into greater peace.
In these days of soft border crossings, people
speak of counties to the north. In our time
of healing, Brexit came in like a fox among
rabbits. On both sides of the border we ask
will the Good Friday Peace Agreement hold?