Belfast, Mr. Sweeney
Unless you approach it from the sea
you cannot help
but come upon the city suddenly
because of its fine setting;
ringed by high hills,
sea inlet and river valley.
Stone-carved heads of gods and poets,
scientists, kings and queens
peer down from the highest ledges of banks
and old linen warehouses.
Mr. Sweeney walks the streets alone
and stares upwards at elaborate sculptures
over doors and windows.
He’s always looking up.
Giant cranes tower over the shipyard’s port
and dry dock calls his name.
The city and the river front are being transformed,
and even in the distance, through the fog and rain
he longs to get away.