To go to
Brought him home the evening before the market
An exile that night in Mucker.
We heeled up the cart before the door,
We took the harness inside –
The straw-stuffed straddle, the broken breeching
With bits of bull-wire tied;
The winkers that had no choke-band,
The collar and the reins…
In Ealing, Broadway,
I name their several names
Until a world comes to life –
Morning, the silent bog,
And the God of imagination waking
In a Mucker fog.
Patrick Kavanagh, Collected Poems, McGibbon & Kee, 1964