Watching

A stereotype of Irish winter

Stir across the sky

Teasing my skin

My clothes

My hair

With its a light downpour

Regretting

The walk already chosen

By me and my friend

To this marker of significance

On our historical itinerary

Writing

In a space found on the wall

Amongst the names

Grown over decades

Forcing ink onto wet concrete

A hopeless act

Asking

For peace

That won’t be granted

In a world

Already so broken