Poetry: Selections from J.P. Sexton

Roadside Cannibals

The first time

I saw a car

being eaten

was on the Long Island Expressway

driving Eastwards

to bed

after working

all night in Queens.

 

It looked

quite roadworthy

except for the fact

it had no wheels.

Perched precariously

on cement blocks

four square wheels

going nowhere fast.

The next night

headed West,

I saw it again.

Without doors or seats.

Though I never witnessed

a parts thief

strip-mining

their quarry.

 

Yet, they must

have come and went

about their business

seen by hordes.

The burned out

transparent shell

a scorched corpse

for my farewell view.

 

The blackened body

still smoldered

like a vessel

bound for Valhalla.

A Viking funeral

not meant to be

cement block wheels

cannot reach the sea.

Outrun the Night

The Banshee needs

not waste

her cries

on me.

I cry alone.

 

In the deep throes

of night

on side streets

I fight

for my life.

 

Time bleeds out

in the darkness.

Morning straggles

and limps

With an anemic pulse.

J.P. Sexton grew up on a peninsula in North Donegal, Ireland. He has been writing poetry and short stories since he was a boy. He has been published in The Irish Times, The Garda Review Magazine and The Connaught Telegraph. In 2016 his memoir; The Big Yank - Memoir of a Boy Growing Up Irish, was published and in 2018, he co-authored a book of Irish stories called; Four Green Fields: Wild Irish Banter & Stories, Shenanigans & Poetry. He is currently editing the sequel to TBY.