Going where tens go
Old manse far out, hillcarved in golden countryside
On a cold night walking up its gravelled drive, long cars driving by
Descried by drivers, described liberally as an Irish
As if my thickness represented us all God forbid.
Pilots first disembark
Marking stones with Dunnes finest spat’s soles
Distinguished guests alight opened car doors
Soulless old money redolent crude oil and Yale Masonry
Cleaving the lawn signs warned me not to walk on
One casts glance, lizard cornea’d iguanasapien
Turning my tennisballs to gunstones.
Alchemisland 
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