My response to the Sweeney Myth and Seán Lynch’s exhibition in Visual, inspired by my first week as a dad.

Suibne

I study the magenta, pink and white specks,

on your head and the wisps of white vernix

as you squeal, squirm and suck the air.

 

I wipe milk and mucus from your lips, chin

and cheek as you spray a warm stream

of piss upwards, splashing on the changing bed.

 

I watch the ticker tape of yellow from your bottom

and catch the spurts in my hands as you dig

your heel in your excrement as you screech

 

like a thrashing wounded crow as if it were me

who caused it all. In the madness, I look at you,

the phlegm, the milk, the shit and I drink it all in.