Nihil Dicit (Or as Judas O’Halloran Likes to Say…) by John Doyle

There are 19 shades of shit 

crawling through a sewer system 

underground, 

there are 29 level crossings latching shut 

across an endlessly drifting planet - all in sync. There are silver dollars buried somewhere in Arkansas, my nephew neglected to save his map. 

That's how Homosexuals do it, said Judas O'Halloran, 

they stand for hours on end  

slapping their willies off each other. 

There were a number of decades gone by, where I may have corrected him, 

instead I crawled down a few feet further, 

rolled up my sleeves 

and listened to trains above 

falling off the ends of the earth.  

That’s how grafters do it, O’Halloran, I say, 

now put that Smith and Wesson away

John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch.

He is based in Maynooth, County Kildare, Ireland. All he asks is that you leave your guns at the door and tie up your horses before your enter.