Whole Lot Less of Rosie. By John Doyle

They say water and a priest
was all she asked for
that night she died,

it’s a lie - I know
she died alone,
except for that horse she rode saddle-less across

a bolt of lightning,
the hounds of Hell
ever closer - Rosie screaming.

I look in the bookmakers
to make sure she's dead,
no-one’s picking drunks’ pockets,

no-one’s cursing crippled children
laughing underneath the olive tree.
Yes, she's dead -

the syllables of mourning, unneeded -
a perfect walnut, picket-fence
and cider kind of peace sweetens our town

John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch.