untitled, one
Ah habaneros!
here she is 
the tawny skinned woman
who grew them in
rich Mother Earth
with their off-the-chart
capsicum quotient
her jet dark hair streaked with silver 
her broken nose
her long brown fingers
holds the tiniest sliver of
habanero
"Just a taste" she says
she puts it in my mouth
like a communion wafer
 
The fire starts right away
my eyes water my nose runs
I break out in a cool sweat
but it burns anyway
really burns
burns like the Buddha's Fire Sermon
 
"Shall I put it out?" she asks
I can't speak so she speaks for me
she presses her lips to mine 
and parts them with her tongue 
and the taste of her quenches me
untitled, two
"BOBBY SANDS DIES"
screamed the Daily News headline
filling a quarter of the front page
above a grainy black & white photo of Sands,
his long tousled hair framing
his smiling face filling the rest of the page
 
27 years old and dead
in the Maze
 
We stood in front of the newsrack at Gems Spa
in the early hours, up all night
drinking and drugging now
in the dawn's early light

Next to the lurid News the sober NY Times headline
the first paragraph printed in bold
“rioting erupts across Northern Ireland”
"extra security ordered for British Consul General's office"
"NYC's Irish community needs to remain calm, says the mayor"
 
What will the Westies do? We wondered
Should we go to the Hibernia and check out the action later on?
What's the over and under on a hot time in
Hell's Kitchen tonight?