Monday, 29 August 2016

A poem by Edward O'Dwyer

My Best Friend Sammy


My best friend Sammy is a stubborn bastard
about everything. When we were eight,
I’ll always remember it, he took a shot
and it went over the jumper. It was post,
nowhere near a goal. No fucking way,
Sammy started screaming. It was in.
And crazy eyes on him. When he gets
the crazy eyes on him he isn’t messing.
He fell out with me over it, took his ball
and went home, not a word. Days passed
and turned into two weeks and enough
was enough. I called over to his house
after school and I said, Okay, Sammy,
it was in. That was that. Minutes later
and we were out kicking the ball again,
playing a game of Pole. Stubborn cunt,
I said to Sammy as he was heading in
and he laughed. They beat the absolute shit
out of him, the fucking scumbags. Sammy
could be his own worst enemy sometimes.
That was just a plain fact. I know him.
I know he could have stayed down but
wouldn’t. They kept putting him down
and he kept getting back to his feet
and laughing and calling them pansies
and then daring them to try it again,
his big fat eyes bulging out of his head.
They took their turns having their kicks
and digs. Then they took one of the eyes
out of him. They stabbed him, piercing
a lung. They’d have been looking for a fag.
That’s how it goes. You’re probably
fucked if you give it, fucked if you don’t.
They’re not asking. It’s not about the fag.
Gizz a fag ‘ill yuh, they say, and the best
thing you can do is peg it, but Sammy
wouldn’t ever do that, the stubborn fuck
that he is. Gizz a fag ‘ill yuh, they say,
and their hoods up, a scrawny shower,
tracksuit bottoms tucked into white socks.
G’wan will uh, iss ony wan fag like.
I really need Sammy to wake up.
He’s my best friend and I need him.
The same day it happened I shifted Jenny.
I want to tell Sammy all about it,
the fucking magic of it, her tongue
in my mouth, mine in hers and my hands
all over the juicy denim arse of her.
Finally did it. Sammy has been listening
to me going on and on about Jenny
for must be over four years now and never
doing nothing about it. Shifted the face
off her but it doesn’t feel real now.
How can it if I can’t tell my best friend?
Jesus Christ, wake up, wake fucking up.
Sammy has to be the first to know, I owe
him it. You stubborn cunt, Sammy.
It was post, Sammy, when we were eight.
Post. Now wake up and scream at me.
Open up your crazy eye, tell me it was in.






Edward O'Dwyer, from Limerick, Ireland, has poetry published in magazines and anthologies throughout the world, such as The Forward Book of Poetry, Poetry Ireland Review, The Manchester Review, A Hudson View Poetry Digest, The Houston Literary Review, among others. His debut collection, The Rain on Cruise's Street (2014), is published by Salmon Poetry, from which the follow-up is due early 2017. He is an editor for Revival Press, a community publishing house in Limerick. His work has been nominated for Forward, Pushcart, and Best of the Web prizes.

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