Everyone here will starve:
each bone will be a stripe,
each hand a bowl,
each leg a stick.
Then there'll be the gluttony
of cameras:
our threadbare skin
will be devoured,
our eyes exported
shining like pickles.
Poetry by Irish poet Michael O'Dea. (poems © Michael O’Dea, Dedalus Press, Amastra-n-Galar, Lapwing Publications)