Dubliners

I found a beaten copy
of Dubliners in her house.
Instead of epiphanies each
story climaxed with lewd
encounters unveiled
in less than subtle
details. Her Ireland -
I pleaded and battered
at the spine. I cut
up newspapers and remade
every woman into her.
She is, I have no doubt,
the human truth
in motion. I humbly witness
to it daily. Yet I speak of
and in a modern tongue
that cannot contain it
and she fairly knows. Shocking
to find a keyhole view,
even, into her capital city.