Suspended Domination

Irish Education in the late 60s early 70s

The Varnish that cracked by the weather,waits

The stone cracked,home for the moss,

Litchen creeps over the cold face that keeps my fear caged within

over the door Jesus hangs his head,

will he ever open his eyes to see us.

Perhaps he too is caged.

Scholar after scholar we step up the stone steps,

inside the green paint bubbles in circles the white powder that bullseyes the damp.

Cigarette smoke still in the air

cigarette buts lie on the floor,stamped out along with bingo books

matches and cigarette boxs,

The chairs that sat the hopefull punters will be folded away

and stacked high against the back wall,

water sprinkled from old lemonade bottles try to keep down the dust

sweepers line the back wall like the final charge on the wooden floor.

The potbelly stove in the corner glows a warning

pink and red the orange heat keeps you from getting too close.

The big bucket of coal emptied ,now refilled will be the 10 o clock topup,

we rush to the yard to play marbles or tag or football.

After the break the black figure will stand with his back to the heat

in the seats closest to him will be the sons of doctors,solisitors, gardas,

behind them farmers sons whose dads donated land for the football pitch,

then shopkeepers sons finally us

the quiet ,the shy ,the poor ,the stupid.

Last of all behind us Jesus hangs his head his eyes are still closed.

Author's Note

Do not feel any pity for us we share the shame.

YES I AM HUMAN!