The deep purple clematis
overflows its trellis and the grass
grows like a tumor. Feast
of the Most Precious
Blood of Our Lord Jesus
Christ, Double of the First
Class, Red Vestments.
John Vander Wal hits a double in
the sixth. Soon in the six counties
they’ll be singing King Billy.
Fireflies waltz vestment red,
Order orange, papal gold,
Sinn Fein green.
Above them a baukie bird at the
eaves, after mosquitos.
Just a wee deoch an doris:
double of the first class.
Across the street, Nino’s
in the City of St. Francis:
Think of him in the crumbling chapel
the crucifix pleading:
Patch up my church that is falling,
fallen. St. Francis of the fireflies
of clematis and unmowed grass, eerie
bats and blood-drunk mosquitos,
pray for us, pour for us.
1 July 2003
Born and raised in Milwaukee, David Brannan says he has “learned and continues to learn from the likes of Jim Chapson, Matt Cook, Susan Firer, Jim Hazard, James Liddy and Bob Watt.” His poems have been published in two chapbooks and a scattering of magazines from Blue Canary Press, as well as in other local publications such as the Shepherd-Express, Nobody Quarterly and Burdock, in Beloit Poetry Journal and Asphodel Madness.
