I might go back to Dublin this weekend,
on the sly. A cheapo flight. Two hours.
Not tell the folks. Slip through with special powers.
I wouldn’t even call my oldest friend.

Step off the bus on Stephen’s Green and walk
through Friday evening’s fun. With any luck,
there’d be an empty snug where I could duck
the rising tide of laughter and loud talk.

I’ll ask the bar man for two pints and wait.
Across the frosted glass, the shades will spread.
Now, you will take a breather from being dead.

I’ll see the seat beside me take your weight.
You sip your pint and sigh, revivified!
We’ll have an hour before I get my flight.

Justin Quinn's most recent book of poems is Shallow Seas (2020). He lives in Prague.