Back on track with the 30/30 poem a day: Irony

Aunty Irony lives in Hollymount House 
on the street that winds up past the cemetery.

A hint of something clings to her 
it could be lavender 
it could be piss. 
We visit because life takes us that way
up the hill
occasionally glancing at the cemetery. 
Well, not visit, but pass by
and she’s in the garden 
so we stop and lean on the wall
tell her our news.
She keeps us in check.
Don’t get too cocky, she warns with a wink.
Sometimes if I remember
I’ll take a detour
to avoid comment.
But you can’t take the long way round every time. 

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