Commercial Street

Little seed inside a birdie
Flying high above the trees
Travelled far from home and family
Over mountains over seas
Little spikes that cling to clothing
Tiny teeth and shiny claws
Lips that suck and zips that fasten
Carry me through unknown doors

I have no money for a bottle
Cigarettes or food to eat
I move swiftly on the cold wind
Blowing down Commercial Street

At the gates we stood in wonder
Watched the big boats sail away
Couldn’t think of one good reason
They’d be coming back one day
Hear the sound of Crazy Cavan
Rattle windows on Stow Hill
Now the sea cracks open reaching
For the light and ever will

Is the Ship and Pilot open?
Will the wise and wicked meet
In the houses of the willing
Rise from rubbish in the street
From the worthless depths of anger
The sediment of loss and doubt
Heavy drops of rain are falling
All the seeds begin to sprout