1
On the way to a funeral

in Cavan

a crow flew into the windscreen.
On the way to another funeral

in Cavan

a rabbit went under the wheel.
Listen! I heard souls shoot up

with a thump

straight to heaven,
then I sat in the seat

wondering what was coming

on the next straight stretch.
     2
It seems the men and women

I’ve grown up with

have sprouted wings
or turned into hares —

for a split second —

at the final reckoning.
So I’m going to no more

funerals in Cavan.

Soon there won’t be a bird
or a badger left alive in the country.

And if you happen

to be coming over the Curlews
and kill a ferret,

turn back, friend, the chances are

you’ll meet my hearse.


From The Travels of Sorrow (2015), reproduced by kind permission of Helen Gillard/The Estate of Dermot Healy and The Gallery Press.