On a quiet street where old ghosts meet
I see her walking now – Patrick Kavanagh
After the Bunuel film
they walked in the half-glow of sodium light.
It wasn’t Sunday but a Sunday hush followed them
through backstreets, black lanes where old trades
were at the end of their time
and a music hall entrance long ago had a sign
that read: “No skirt-hoops and no swords.
Standing room only for the Hallelujah Chorus”.
Above the inner city steeple
the multiplying gulls were peeking
to see who was slouching down Lord Edward Street
or taking shelter behind the cathedral.
On Ormond Quay they quickened their steps,
finding their way among the shifty spectres
of Vikings and Insurrectionists –
ghosts who appeared on ground
where a treasure hunt would yield antiquities, the past
or traces of it in broken bits.
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