An Apothecary in Rathmines
An Apothecary In Rathmines
What a life led around toilets:
one cubicle, two men,
white powder in a Tesco's plastic bag
that you open with exacting care -
your irregular customer, florid-frowned,
white-maned, with his begrudging face
sightless for a moment as his eyes roll back
then tighten in relief. You elbow the door.
Two men intimate yet untouched
slide off the mirror like they were never there;
outside he rubs his nose and leaves
proudly through the front, hands
suggesting fists inside his coat.
You watch his walk, then grab
your phone: who calls so loud?
A customer, nervous, requiring reassurance.
And so: "Put this," you say, "put this
in any human thing you will
and though it has the will of ten
it will be dispatched. Yeah, perfect.
Ok, yeah. Sure. Sure, see you then."
The unguents, the salves delivered
under blue suspicious lights.