by Stephen McGuinness  

Aromas of coconut
cinnamon, then
coconut again, hang
over cosmopolitan
coffees and mis-matched tables.
A trail of blood splashes
soaked into the pavement
a relic of the festival
a fossil in concrete.
Too old for mirrored glasses
a tattooed man spits
bravado at a compliant
woman, leaning away.
A clock chimes quarter-to
the bells bouncing
off long forgotten
copper-green domes.
I move along
squinting in the sun. 

Stephen McGuinness works as a chef in Dublin 8 and lives in Wicklow. His poems have been published online on Eat Sleep WriteCalliope MagazineThe Blue Minaret Literary Magazine, and by Silverbirch Press in the “I am Waiting” and “Where I Live” series.