I come across them still.
Like when I opened the drawer
and saw them first thing this morning.
I had noticed how yours, loose
cotton shorts, kept getting caught
as you struggled to pull on your jeans.
The next Saturday we were out shopping
I picked a pack of four: lycra, tight-
hugging—in deep purple, pink, lime green, blue.
You opened the pack at home,
spread them on the bed, a tapestry,
and asked me to pick my favourite.
I chose the lime green. I wear them,
a token of you, and like radium,
how it draws light from inside dark things,
they shine, phosphorescent in your absence.
Derek Coyle has published poems and reviews in the U.S., Britain and Ireland; in Irish Pages, The Texas Literary Review, Cuadrivio (Mexico), Wordlegs, The SHOp, Burning Bush 2, Glitterwolf, Skylight 47, and fathers and what needs to be said. He has been shortlisted for the Patrick Kavanagh Award (2010, 2014), the Bradshaw Prize (2011), and in 2012 he was a chosen poet for the Poetry Ireland ‘Introductions Series.’ In 2013 he was placed second in the Bradshaw Prize. He currently lives in Carlow, Ireland, and he is a member of the Carlow Writers’ Co-Operative.