Torn bloodied from the belly
of the earth beneath
your tinytoes, I am the precious
gone to the bad.
Longtime have I waited,
glowering malevolent,
a blackhearted mountain
your grandpas built for coppers.
My day is now. Time colliding
with overripe circumstance;
your coalboard clowns
my hapless henchmen.
Rainfall I have held
like bile has shaped me
into a fist of liquid
black brokenglass.
On your last schoolday
I shall tearup your books,
choke the daylight,
fill your little mouths
and claim the name
of your home forever.
Harry Gallagher
