The seventy-something next door is planted into a sycamore, his chainsaw roars as he lops and him stretched-out near the …
Jailbreak. A poem by Trish Bennett
Feck this cocoon, I’m heading out, the Mother declares over the phone. When I ask where she’s going, she replies, …
God Bless the Bees. A Poem by Trish Bennett
The Mother, cocooned in Leitrim, takes out her frustration on wandering roses and other wayward strays, who assume they can …
A Breath of Fresh Air. A poem by Trish Bennett
Our road is loaded. Gun-metal-grey people-carriers armed with children, hot-blooded-racers with roaring exhausts, quarantined pensioners — out for the air, …