Donal Mahoney - Three Poems

Moth Upside Down on the Ceiling

This black moth

flew in the front door

of the living room

the other night

and has been up

on the ceiling

ever since.

It's hanging

upside down

in the same spot

not moving

like a drone waiting

for instructions.

I'm in my recliner

this morning

drinking coffee

and watching him.

He's an immigrant

from the light

that shines all night

on the front porch

letting burglars know

I have an AK-47

should they decide

to drop in.

The last few nights

I've noticed other moths

fluttering around the light

perhaps wondering where

this moth is.

In his current fix,

he too may be wondering

how they're doing.

When I was a boy,

there was a protocol

in my family when

a moth commandeered

the parlor ceiling.

My father would swing

the fly swatter

and flatten the intruder

with one splat.

The last three mornings

I haven't seen this moth move.

I wouldn't kill him

even if I had a swatter.

But if he were

an inconvenience,

like an unintended fetus

found in a womb,

I still wouldn't do anything.

We have people trained

to take care of that

and like my father

they know what

they're doing. 



The Constant Dinosaur

Some day soon

Wall Street giants

will walk on their hands

never sit or sleep.

They will eat

with their feet

as nostrils drip

and neckties droop.

With toilets extinct

they will launch

missiles that blot out

the sun and moon

while in the dark

the constant dinosaur

of greed will roam

the avenue and eat

the little people

one chomp at a time.



Monks in the Orchard Picking Peaches

Young monk

and old monk

in the orchard

picking peaches,

sunny and plump,

ready for canning.

Carrying bushels

to the wagon cart,

the young monk

asks the old monk

what to look out for

when growing old.

The old monk

pauses and says

not much.

Life stays the same

for the most part.

Monks work and pray

but an old monk

works slower and

prays faster.

But not to worry,

the old monk advises.

He admits he's

going deaf

but that's just

an inconvenience

since God uses

sign language.

Peaches like these

have no need to talk.

  

Nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart prizes, Donal Mahoney has had poetry and fiction published in various publications in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa. Some of his earliest work can be found at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/