night..

yes yes, it's so late.. the house is still.. PC in bed.. Dan just home from a movie.. "not bad" he says then his phone rings and he's off to his room leaving me alone in the kitchen.. footy's over.. I fell asleep in middle of the third quarter.. knew the Demons had no chance of pulling the game back from such a long long way..the best part of the night had been the thin black magic man who leapt and ran and fell in front of goal and booted the ball in sideways!!!.. he made his mark and they danced in their seats, his girlfriend up on her feet and his mum and dad and grandmother sitting there in one long line of Northern Territory colour smiling and taking him in and taking it in, the whole thing in, again.
and that was it for me, I lay back in a corner of the sofa and took the evening in like that..
and now in the kitchen at the table once again and with one click I'm back on a page of poetry.. an a to z of poets to be precise..though I never am I do not think..precise.. but here it is and here I am.. Heaney in Mossbawn Sunlight, even Dahl reading Little Red Riding Hood in a way that only a sly old fox could .. and both are good.. really good..and I mark them as favourites with the orange star at the side of the screen then something makes me look again and I find the name Ciaran Carson and knowing nothing click on this and Belfast Confetti comes up and Snow and I listen in awe here in the tick tock still of a kitchen in Gippsland and know as i know my fingers are finding these letters on the keyboard.. i've found another Irish mine..

http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/trackListing.do?poetId=29