Eyeliner, perfume, black tights,
Long island iced teas in a café in Rathmines.
Stumble, over the Ha’penny Bridge, through pubs,
Greet familiar faces; shouts, smiles, hugs.
Sway to the Twisted Pepper’s thumping music.
Darkness broken by the strobe’s flash,
Close your eyes as your jaw locks and head rolls back.
Night air’s cold on Abbey Street.
Throw up in a doorway; forget to care if people see.
Watch the city flash by through the window of a taxi,
Singing Champagne Supernova, slumped in the backseat.
Curl in bed, all together. Chain-smoke;
Confess love through clenched teeth.
Hours pass. Drift through a slow haze into sleep.
Cottonmouth. Water. Smudge some make-up
Over last night’s foundation. Head for the bus.
Pause on Grafton Street to listen to buskers
Singing Little Lion Man in the January snow,
Then on to Butler’s; in the smoking area, with hot tea,
Discuss the night before, North Korean politics, and types of E.
Shelter in George’s Street Arcade from the cold.
Browse overpriced dresses and jewellery, longingly.
It’s getting dark outside. Order coffee; ciabatta bread.
Sit and chat about the thoughts that swirl in your head.
Share cigarettes and stories; grievances, laughter, and
Reminisce on memorable nights,
And mornings after.
Caelainn Bradley is a student from Dublin, Ireland. She writes poetry, short stories, and while she is yet to complete a novel, she’s working on it. She also dabbles in street art, and is currently working on a project in Dublin combining street art and poetry. She tweets pictures of this work @ourtimeourcity. She enjoys taking risks, experimenting with style and challenging herself.
–Art by Zak Milofsky