William Heath has published five poetry books: The Walking Man, Steel Valley Elegy, Going Places, Alms for Oblivion, Prime Time; three chapbooks, Night Moves in Ohio, Leaving Seville, Inventing the Americas; three novels: The Children Bob Moses Led (winner of the Hackney Literary Award), Blacksnake’s Path, and Devil Dancer; a work of history, William Wells and the Struggle for the Old Northwest (winner of two Spur Awards and the Oliver Hazard Perry Award); and a collection of interviews, Conversations with Robert Stone.
In 2023 he received a Lifetime Achievement Award from Hiram College. He lives in Annapolis. www.williamheathbooks.com
Dublin
By the look of it, the lads
bellied up to the bar at Brannigan’s,
a cavernous pub off O’Connell,
might as well be pregnant—
that’s what a daily ration of pints
will do for you over the years.
One notices my gaze and reads
my mind: “I once tried the Irish
whiskey diet,” he says with a wink,
“and I lost four days.”
Pub food is no longer mushy peas
and soggy grub. In a week I sample
lamb chops, shank, and rump, a hearty
soup of the day, plus Guinness.
On the ride to the airport the driver
regales us with tales of his travels.
First time in the States, he’s never
heard of a doggy bag—the idea
of leftover food beyond his ken.
Upon arrival we apologize for
having no euros left to add a tip.
In all sincerity he tells us not to worry.
Good talk is enough.
Prospero’s Last Days
What if Prospero
misses his book,
makes a great effort
to dredge it up from
the bottom of the bay,
badly water-damaged,
pages stuck together,
the ink, of course,
mostly run away,
nothing there to see
but a soggy blur no one
will ever read again.
Miranda, his daughter,
is off seeking a new home
in some brave new world
on the other side of
a wide sea he will never
cross, while Caliban dances
in a circle and laughs
as is the custom among
his people plotting
in the dark to take
back their island from
that sad old man.
From Cassandra to Siri
We called her Cassandra,
she had a knack for picking
up her iPhone before it rang,
and she always got A’s
on surprise quizes, but when
it came to her predictions
of dire things to come,
she would have preferred
failing grades.
Nowadays not you but Siri
knows the way, reading maps
a lost art. Who needs a sense
of direction if some mellow-
voiced lady is telling you where
to turn, and if you happen
to be tad too late she’ll re-
direct you in seconds. Yet
what if Siri falls silent?
Where are you then?
Playing the Numbers
Even if you were never
fond of math in old age
you learn how to subtract:
year by year loved ones
pass away, your own body
slows down, loses the ease
you once took for granted,
simple things like sitting
down and then rising from
the chair, climbing stairs
or worse yet descending,
to say nothing of getting up
in the middle of the night
to pee without spilling
a drop are now difficult
negotiations, requiring fore-
thought and planning with
a dwindling chance of success.
Past eighty, life expectancy
is now down to single digits
and the number zero looms.
One More Sad Ohio Story
(1963 – 2026)
When the ages of my sister’s three sons
total fifteen, I wrestle with them all
at once, tumbling on the front yard grass,
lifting them in my arms to their squealing
delight. Before bed I sometimes read
to them my own twisted versions of
favorite fairy tales they know by heart
and the moment I slip off to ad-lib
about Goldilocks and the three pigs,
Snow White and the seven bears,
giggles drown out protests.
The three boys grow taller than
my six feet. The strapping devils
are all-American handsome. K, a
high school swimmer, and his brother
come to Vilanova i la Geltrú one summer,
immediately catch the attention
of the Catalan girls. Roser says they
are our nephews and next day
the boys are encircled by the spread
beach towels of girls in skimpy bikinis
seldom seen in Delaware, Ohio.
The world is all before K then.
He has a winning smile, a charming
presence, always fun to be with,
yet after he graduates from Kent State,
like many a young man of his generation
he never quite knows what to do with
his precious life. He has an ideal
personality for sales yet never finds
anything he really wants to sell.
His first marriage ends in divorce
and he begins to drink heavily.
His second marriage is better:
they are a happy couple and he does
much of the work on a large house set—
like his boyhood home—in the woods.
Her job is steady; he can’t keep one
for more than a few years. Before long,
serious drinking starts in the morning.
Again and again his wife forgives him.
After more than twenty years she leaves
for good and he sinks into a whirlpool
from which he never resurfaces.
At some point he supplements
his Bud Lites with heavier drinks,
joining a host of other lost young men
seeking ways to destroy themselves.
When his teeth fall out his father pays
a pretty penny to replace them. Then
he ceases eating, grows painfully thin,
a few vital inner organs organize
a work stoppage: the end is in sight.
A hospice his last home, the sum
of his rare charm left in the past.