DONAL MAHONEY - POEMS

Donal Mahoney, a native of Chicago, lives in St. Louis, Missouri. He has worked as an editor for The Chicago Sun-Times, Loyola University Press and Washington University in St. Louis. His fiction and poetry have appeared in various publications, including The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, The Christian Science Monitor, Commonweal, Guwahatian Magazine (India), The Galway Review (Ireland), Public Republic (Bulgaria), The Osprey Review (Wales), The Istanbul Literary Review (Turkey) and other magazines. Some of his work can be found at http://eyeonlifemag.com/the-poetry-locksmith/donal-mahoney-poet.html#sthash.OSYzpgmQ.dpbs
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                       A New Yo-Yo on Christmas Day


I took grandson Jack
for a walk in the park
high noon on Christmas Day.
He wanted to see 
his yo-yo dance
but his parents said
no yo-yo tricks
in a crowded house
with a Christmas tree.

So after Mass
they wrapped Jack up 
in a snowsuit worn
by the Michelin Man
when he was a child.
And Jack and I 
strolled off, laughing 
through the snow.

The park was empty 
when I showed Jack 
yo-yo tricks I’d learned
many decades ago.
I told him he would
soon be tall enough 
to do these tricks
on his own.


Jack laughed and asked
if we could come back
to the park that night
and watch the comets.
I asked him why. 
That’s when I learned 
comets are yo-yos and 
God swings their strings
on the other side
of the moon.




                Another Christmas Alone

Widow in a rocker
pets her calico cat
long strokes slowly.

With the cat purring
and the widow humming
Beethoven fills the house

with memories of 
the many years 
of mistletoe

and aftershave
as snowflakes 
dot the window.





                 Big Bang for Little Billy


This was the first Christmas
Billy was old enough to speak 
when he saw his gifts 
under the sparkling tree.
His parents were waiting
to hear what he’d say.
Billy laughed and jumped
and clapped his hands. 
With a big smile, he shouted
“Santa brought me these!” 
Then Daddy picked Billy up,
bounced him on his knee 
and whispered softly,
“There is no Santa, son.
There was a Big Bang 
while you were asleep.
And all your gifts landed
under the tree.”




                       Ambulance Lights


Willie McKee works 
second shift
gets home at midnight
makes hot cocoa 
flops in his recliner

and counts the stars
through the blinds
nods to the moon
and every week or so 
sees ambulance lights 
pull up at Tom’s house
blink for an hour 
while the crew goes in
and restarts him.


But on Christmas Eve 
the ambulance lights
pull away in minutes
and a hearse pulls up
two men go in

bring out the gurney
as old Tom's wife 
stands on the porch
and smokes
and Willie McKee
tells his wife 
neighbors will never
hear Mabel curse
old Tom again.



                      After Christmas


You’re glad when 
the holidays are over  
and everyone’s gone home

and the ribbons and wrappings 
are balled up in the garbage.
Next year it won’t be a bother

after they drop the lid 
and six men wobble you out 
to the greensward where your

family cries as you’re lowered. 
Never again will you worry
about finding the right gift or

putting the right star on the tree
or getting folks to church on time.
But if He’s not waiting

to greet you on the other side
what will you do, pray tell,
about the one who is.