On the death of Stephen Hawking
auld philandering vegetable he was.
I hope he’s rotting
in a hell he doesn’t believe in
and smoking like a burned grape. hell,
I hope I go there too — I don’t believe
in hell either
but I could talk to him
and I suppose apologise for being so disrespectful
in this one poem I wrote.
although I maintain
he wouldn’t have been famous
if he didn’t look so interesting
but that’s true for a lot
of famous people,
and while the cynic I am
wants to mock him
wants to hear him tell me
something about stars.
DS Maolalai has returned to Ireland after four years away, now spending his days working maintenance dispatch for a bank and his nights drinking wine. His first collection, Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden, was published in 2016 by the Encircle Press. He has twice been nominated for the Pushcart Prize.
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