Ailbhe Darcy

Come, gin, you sharp-tongued thing, and sitwith me for the daily briefing. Out he slides,

the ruffled slug, flanked by his advisers. He’s notquite not grinning. The three podiums are dominoes

leaning hungrily in, park benches where you must not sit,playgrounds wrapped in crime tape,

smartphones handed to children. He’s a moving billow,a propagating dynamic disturbance, something to...