Another section of ship breaks away.
My daughter, only three,
looking at our heroic Samson and Goliath,
says “Look daddy, sunflowers!”
I look down in awe.
Autumn, redundancy all but spent,
I stand on the shoulder of a giant.
A leaf ready to fall
onto rich yet barren ground,
praying for a wind
to carry me to soft earth.
If only the sodding planet
could warm up faster:
melt the poles and send out a few thousand icebergs!
I wouldn’t be here – would I?
Though the bloody Koreans
would probably land the orders.
From Belfast’s dark crown I see
sunflowers, marched out in lines:
stems straight, heads bowed, yellow but proud.
I descend and swim through the life rafts.
My daughter, only three, brought her first sunflower
home today; I’ll water it, because I love her.