No Sky Above Us
Things seemed best in hand
much further along the way.
No longer dressing
all those mornings
coiled and hissing.
Starting to consider it all,
in terms of vanishing acts.
To smooth over situations,
that go bump in the night.
An obvious approach,
only asking for water
from a big boned girl.
Rarely did he leave,
the greying rooftop.
The doors of his house
blown off their hinges.
Besides a cool precision,
a will for entertainment,
fixing on familiar lands.
Scarcely permitted
breath with smoke.
Michael Igoe, city boy, neurodiverse, Chicago now Boston. Numerous works appear in journals and anthologies (available on Amazon, Lulu and Barnes & Noble). National Library of Poetry Editor’s Choice for Excellence 1997.