WITNESSES (a Golden Shovel based on Derek Mahon)


They ring the doorbell and stand there

their eyes wide, like this time, the door will

swing open. This time, they will be

invited in by someone just dying


to find out the good news. There, there,

we can help, when there’s a will

and all that, a cup of tea would be

great, yes. They stand there dying,


wearing Sunday best on a Tuesday. Silly, but

still, always, somehow, there.

They don’t know the first-floor window is

cracked. I am eyeing them with no


intention to indulge them. I don’t need

more rules or instructionsto

make me feel like I know where to go.

They turn around and go to the next door


and I return to scrolling through Netflix. That’s that.


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