When Barney Devlin hammered
The midnight anvil
I can still hear it: twelve blows
Struck for the millennium.
~
His nephew heard it
In Edmonton, Alberta:
The cellular phone
Held high as a horse's ear,
Barney smiling to himself.
~
Afterwards I thought
Church bels beyond the starres heard
And then imagined
Barney putting it to me:
'You'll maybe write a poem.'
~
What I'll do instead
Is quote those waterburning
Medieval smiths:
'Huf, puf! Lus, bus! Col!' Such noise
On nights heard no one never.
~
And Eoghan Rua
Asking Séamus MacGearailt
To forge him a spade
Sharp, well shaped from the anvil,
And ringing sweet as a bell.
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