between trains Thank you for your recent letter, Dennis O’Driscoll. This is just a brief note before all the others rush in, Rush in with their first response to the bleak quotation You offered us on Christmas Eve. The earliest mail Will set the record straight: let pandemonium Cease, let the wild confetti of poets Be withdrawn from the bitterness of the streets. Let me put it simply, your last fine poem Was more than any editor expected. It frightened The life out of all who read to the bitter end, Not anticipating such a turn of phrase. I suspend My judgement, still, and hope you may yet lighten Those closing words. Dennis, all quotation marks I would remove for now – as things stand, You don’t need to hide behind another poet’s hand Or ventriloquise your long-suffering heart. Life is a dry skull, it’s true. Death is A ruthless and obsessive boss, But you were too smart to take mere dictation In any departure lounge or railway station. In truth, dear correspondent, your loss is our loss And your absence is more than a lost quotation – Which is why I’ll bring this note from station to station To catch you between trains, at Thurles or Charing Cross. 11