thrown

                                             (exphrasis on pub-performer)

She walked on stage
String bag bumping its
Moist, silver load against
Long, smooth legs, wearing
Grubby, cream, boy-cut
Baggy at the front, not
Ugly, but
Cheap, slightly see-through
Knickers that
Clearly set a strange mood
Infantile but worldly
Worn and mournful from the
First word she spoke;

Her not-abundant, brown hair
Was dark, scrambled into ties
Making her look curious
And slightly surprised.
Blackened front teeth matched
Tall, rubber wellies, while her
Stripey, sparkly knitted top
Was second-hand hip
But not self-conscious -
For despite showing a bit
Of belly it leant
More to child than to girl;

Out of her mouth
Spilled torrents of Irish
Soft as the head of a
Dark, stout beer, and the
Space she left for the words was roomy
She cast out her story with
Stormy tears,
Singing up memories of
Good hard crying that people have
Stashed from their
Earliest years;

She told of her journey from
Womb to world,
Of a giant river
That flowed to the sea
It was made by the
Birth of herself and her brother
Wild and roaring
From out of her mother,
And so fast was the torrent
That as she fell
She held on tight as well she could
To the breasts that swayed
Like arms from a heart, so as
Not to be swept away
For good;
 The fish that she carried
In her old string bag
She split up the middle
With a kitchen knife,
She told how she loved them,
Then fitfully stuck
Her spindly fingers into the cut
Spilling the guts in a large plastic tub
That she nursed quite softly
Between knobbly knees;

As the story goes she was a twin
But her brother, deformed,
Was thrown back in
To the sea to sink
Like food for the fishes
Sliced from the belly
At the doctor’s wishes,
Clean and precise,
Up up and away
Hurled over the waves
And far from his sister
A baby flying and
Bravely wailing
His sad, short song of life
Before dying.