On Emigrating To Iceland Consider first the Alabama heat, consider next the toad still as a turd on this rural bridge rupture slung across a stream where offal floats, where clumps are belching. Note the toad, the reeks that genie up beside it. Then remember Iceland and the freshets of its Spring. Iceland had no toads, no reeks to genie up beside them. Donal Mahoney |
If you have any comments on this poem, Donal Mahoney would be
pleased to hear them.
