Where there are fields by the lake
crazy men own them and won’t let
anyone buy in. If you want to partake
of Loughrea’s old stone upon stone, get
rich quick. There are no more deals.
If you can recall the street where you were born
pack the memory carefully in the fat suitcase
and take it home. Leave all scorn
right here or it will show up on your face
in Kinsella’s tonight amid the jigs and reels.
There is a hole in the ground with a poet in it
every time you turn around. The dance crowd
is waiting for you downstairs. Just a minute,
you tell them. The dearly departed are a cloud
over me, and I am lost in the house the cloud conceals.
— Terence Winch, author of This Way Out
T. S. Poetry
Poetry. Winch’s seventh collection is “imaginative, soulful, and funny…THIS WAY OUT gives us Terence Winch at the top of his game.”—Bob Hicok
“These are the poems you read to your friend at two in the morning.”—Sandra Beasley