An Old Friend in a Box
I found an old friend
in a cardboard box
in the basement
where I left him
forty years ago.
His body was intact
but he never had a heart
which is why I left him
with drafts of other
poems published
long ago on paper
in little magazines
decades before
computers appeared.
The poems were born
on a Royal typewriter
with carbon paper
serving as midwife.
He was the only one
I didn’t sent out
but didn’t have
the heart to abort.
I took him upstairs
to see if my skills
as a surgeon
had developed.
Maybe I could give him
a heart on my iMac.
So far so good.
He’s not perfect
but he’s wriggling.
If he doesn’t reject
his new heart
I’ll let you know
how he turns out.
Donal Mahoney
