There is, in Antrim town
The dark imprint of an angel.
A dusky silhouette
On a gable wall.
And yet, I’m left to wonder . . .
Yonder, at the wall
So tall, this dark stain.
The evidence of such a presence
In this local town.
Lounging by the Six Mile Water.
I ought to make a note
So I’ve pressed my pen to paper.
Thrown my coat in the back seat
And not let the moment pass.
The paper bag
Containing his chips
Dipped in fat and salty confidence.
The evenings optimism
Shielded him, or her
From being “outed” as an angel
Amongst the Friday throng.
Watching the sizzle
And the soaps
All queued up for onion rings
Gravey chips and life on the ropes.
To wrongly assume that
This person, so tall, so tall.
With wings stickin’ out from their shoulders.
Dark with dark hair and ageless older
Should be in fancy dress . . .
For what else could it be?
A hungry stripper maybe?
On their way to an early commission.
Just scootin’ in to this chippy
Feelin nippy and on a mission.
Fer convertin’ fish and chips
into the purest of energies.
They lean towards the T.V. screen
And eagerly listen.
Maybe there’s somethin’ exciting happenin’
But never round here.
“Not much goin on round here, eh big lad?”
What left it’s mark?
Which dog did bark
At such a sight
As the tall stranger
As he walked through the wall
Full bag of chips, fish and all?
The following day
I bent down to pick up
One of the long dark feathers
From out the gutter
While some neighbours muttered
And murmured on.
“Sure, no one would believe me.
As if I could see angels.
Dark or light, it doesn’t much matter, right?
If one of these were standin’ at my gate
I’d ask him in for a cup of tea.
Offer it gin, right straight I would!
For I’d have some questions for him . . .
Like, where’d my husband go
In Nineteen and Ninety Three?
And, is there life after death
For him and me?”
The dark angel of Antrim.
Still marked there.
Not far from the bottom
of the Greystone Road.
Down past the library and shops.
Take a right down into the town.
Stop before the round-a-bout.
Look back and left
Is your reward . . .
The Dark Angel of Antrim
Just don’t tell anyone I told you.
Good man Randall ..i particularly liked the line…”dipped in fat and salty confidence”….Keep the fire burning there….
Thanks Paddy. Antrim town. Packed full of history, slowly crawling out it’s recent slumbers. It’s nice to see the work being done around the town since I did some workshops there about ten years ago.