Sean O'Brien(b. 1952)
Cousin Coat
You are my secret coat. You're never dry.
You wear the weight and stink of black canals.
Malodorous companion, we know why
It's taken me so long to see we're pals,
To learn why my acquaintance never sniff
Or send me notes to say I stink of stiff.the dead
But you don't talk, historical bespoke.made-to-order
You must be worn, be intimate as skin,
And though I never lived what you invoke,
At birth I was already buttoned in.
Your clammy itch became my atmosphere,
An air made half of anger, half of fear.
And what you are is what I tried to shed
In libraries with Donne and Henry James.1
You're here to bear a message from the dead
Whose history's dishonoured with their names.
You mean the North, the poor, and troopers sent
To shoot down those who showed their discontent.2
No comfort there for comfy meliorists3
Grown weepy over Jarrow4 photographs.
No comfort when the poor the state enlists
Parade before their fathers' cenotaphs.war memorials
No comfort when the strikers all go back
To see which twenty thousand get the sack.
Be with me when they cauterize 0 the facts.deaden
Be with me to the bottom of the page,
Insisting on what history exacts.
Be memory, be conscience, will and rage,
And keep me cold and honest, cousin coat,
So if I lie, I'll know you're at my throat.