FLOOR  PLAN JOURNAL

Diarmuid ó Maolalaí

No Blood

​

 

I guess

selling words

is one way to make money.

the second collection

goes out in two days

and I have to read

my poems

in front of people. I'm terrified.

the last time I did this

was in college

at 18 - I'd shat blood

that morning

and was terrified

of cancer

(just hemorrhoids

it turned out),

stumbling, sweating,

forgetting my place

eyes on the paper

like a politician

and an apology

for inappropriate behaviour. and that

was someone else's poem, presenting

my analysis

to just 8 people

who weren't paying

attention. this time

more fear - no blood

so far,

but worse; this time

in the audience

are people I genuinely

respect.

​