This is the poem you've been waiting for –
me too – and in it I have a blind dog
walking alongside a slithering rattlesnake
on North Main Street in Cork, where
Romanian gypsies in long skirts walk by
in groups, and Auntie Nellie's sweetshop
tempts. Yes, the blind dog and the snake –
I look after them, of course, and lead them

down to the river. People try to stop us – boys
with girls, in particular, but I ignore them.
I sit cross-legged on the pedestrian bridge
at the end of the Grand Parade, with the two
chaps beside me, and people throw coins
which I leave behind me as we walk away.
No one pays attention in Douglas Street,
so we march on to the end, then ignore

the instruction to remain in the south.
Instead, we hail a taxi; within which the
blind dog, the rattlesnake, and I, venture
back to Sunday's Well, to the genteel,
dog-fouled slopes, the butcher with a hat,
and I let the dog and the snake free to
gambol along the pavement, while I
roam behind them, absolutely on guard.

Matthew Sweeney's latest collection is Horse Music .