The Man from Oblivia

 The Man from Oblivia

After hearing on the six o  clock news

That an Oblivian man  had appeared in court in Kilkenny

You know him.

He has no name

And no story to tell.

You know him.

He doesn’t speak your language

Or doesn’t speak it well.

He brought an empty suitcase

Blank papers, and photographs

Of darkness.

He brought with him

Nothing

But trouble.

Sometimes he carries a shovel,

Sometimes a ticking clock,

Sometimes a deck of cards,

He sometimes straps magazines under his belt.

With him everything is a weapon.

Even the air scars as he opens it up walking through.

The killer ambulances,

The hospitals where zombies roam

And children disappear,

The black dogs leaping

Through cathedral doors,

The balls of lightening

Passing through

The carriages of trains

Are all down to him.

Those who live in palaces

Despise him  most of all

And have sent a notice out:

Surround him where you can,

Strip him naked,

Beat him like a dirty rug,

Pour tar on him, feathers.

Send him home.