Poem of the week: The Salary Man Comes Home

Don’t forget the moon, my love,
please let it never wax nor wane
concealed all day hand-in-glove
it guards forever our darkening plain.

Don’t forget our child, my love,
inside or suited for out-of-doors
she likes to tug at your woolen sleeve
releasing to air your secret spores.

Don’t forget the bread, my love,
mother bakes it rich and brown
her skirts are gathered at her knees
her wheaten meal is of great renown.

Oh, my love, the road is long
these bureaucrats my days prolong.
Don’t neglect to hoard me treats
Look: winter’s finally in retreat.

Oh, my love, money’s not short
our way winds through forests dark
willows lean low, lovely and smart
we won’t carve letters on cypress bark.

Now, the captain’s turned on full lights
he’s finally found the turn for home
Oh, my love, it’s my great delight
to view our cathedral’s golden dome.

Eamonn Wall is from Co Wexford and lives in St Louis, Missouri. Today’s poem is from his new collection, My Aunts at Twilight Poker (Salmon Poetry). For 2023, he is a fellow in non-fiction at the Writers' Institute/City University of New York-Graduate Center.