To Connecticut Through the Bronx, Acrostically (circa 1984)

This was where we passed through on the way to leafy, unreal Connecticut.

Hell, parts of it seemed, in the bad ’80s: whole blocks levelled; and we nibbled

Edam cheese in the back seat as Dad pushed down the automatic locking, and

Broke through amber lights so as never to stop, where pirates in wheel chairs

Rolled manically to the traffic lights, muddying the wind screen with dirty cloths.

On arrival, half an hour from The Bronx, Darien seemed a different country.

No one of other colours; big houses among the trees they’d stolen from the howling city.

Xanadu? Reagan’s paradise, of private roads and non-Jewish country clubs. Many wasps. Very few Irish.

Published by

David McBloglin

My name is David McLoghlin, I am the author of "Waiting for Saint Brendan and Other Poems" (Salmon Poetry, July 2012); I am an Irish poet, writer and literary translator, who currently lives in New York, and blogs about its vicissitudes, while not writing other things, like my 2nd collection. I moved to NYC in 2010 to study at NYU's MFA Program in Creative Writing, from which I graduated in 2012, two months before my book was published. Before moving to the US, I lived in Ireland, Spain, Belgium, France, the USA, and travelled in a variety of countries (including Morocco, Czechoslovakia (when it was that country), Paraguay, Uruguay, Argentina and Norway), whilst engaged in a number of pursuits. came about as a catch-all for impressions related to moving to NYC alone: culture shock, in essence, and all her ugly sisters.

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