At Eighteen

by Màrtainn Mac an t-Saoir

At eighteen:
it is today rather than tomorrow or yesterday that matters.

At eighteen:
some of the stars show their light in the day time
there is new warmth in each successive moon.

At eighteen:
Don’t say ‘I’ll never do that!’
Rather, answer, ‘Mmm, tell me a little more.’

At eighteen:
don’t whisper your glee when it can be sung.

At eighteen:
Sail your boat with deftly trimmed sheets
But with the expectation of a fair, favourable, wind.

And at eighteen’s cocktail-party
Should discordant jazz and hip-hop appear at the same time;
a random with a ukulele and an incomplete pack of cards;
your neighbour down the road - whom you’ve never spoken to – in search of a puncture-repair kit;
the ghost of a Gaelic Bàrd bearing the poem you never quite got; poor chat; over-salty soup and her (you know who I mean) that was always a bit distant.

The only question that needs to be asked of them all is this:
‘How would you like it: shaken or stirred?’