New Poetry by Donal Mahoney

Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday I saw Quinn again,

first time in years, sailing the streets,

weaving through people,

collar up, head cocked,

arms like telephone poles sunk

in the pockets of his overcoat,

 

the brilliant pennants of his long red hair

waving over the stadium

where years ago he took my handoff,

bucked off guard, found the free field,

and heaved like a bison 

into the end zone.

 

Tonight, when Quinn wove by me muttering,

I should have handed him the ball.

I should have screamed, “Go, Quinn, go!”

He would have stiff-armed the lamppost,

found the free field again,

left all in his wake to gawk

 

as he hit the end zone

and circled the goal posts,

whooping and laughing,

flinging the ball like a spear

over the cross-bar,

back to Iraq.

- Donal Mahoney 2014

Nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart prizes, Donal Mahoney has had work published in various publications in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa.  Some of his earliest work can be found at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.