I found out that I won 2nd place in the Ballyroan Poetry Prize. Thanks to the organisers. Here’s the link and the poem below.
Aftermath
They knife their food in unison, scrape their plates.
She clears her throat and asks for the salt
a hard word from him falls onto the table.
He marches out around the garden,
pulls leaves off the shrubs,
tests the hose, checks the lawnmower.
She pokes the fire, feeds kindling to the flames
and runs her finger down the tongs,
tension held in the clasped claws.
Diarmuid Fitzgerald 