Rallying

Uh. Andrea. I wish I could talk
How we two sit here every week
with the oak beams black as black
claret, black as scorpions. Bleak.

And the plaster, like clotted cream, rolling
down the walls. I wish all Youth Councilling
were like this - coffee, hours of forward planning
Now and then the Parish festival. Face-painting.

Or meeting with the adult councillors
Beautifully clueless, star-crossed losers - all of us
A party of budget-bearing conspirators
You dreaming of Ireland. Me just restless