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Conor O’Hara

Poetry

Currently studying Product Design as a mature student Conor holds love and appreciation for all forms of creativity, whether he is directly involved or admiring from afar.

Being a part of this project allowed Conor to challenge myself in a way that he has rarely done previously. Writing a short piece that pulls little memories of summers gone by and imagined memories of others was a lovely buzz and has encouraged him to perhaps write more.

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On the Linker green you’ll spot small flowers some of

which determine how fond you are of butter.

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You’ll find out off Claire before picking up the

Herald from Sweeney’s for himself.

Do you remember robbin’ a few cola bottles off the counter,

first thing I thought of when I got to the shop.

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Home again, guess who’s asleep in their chair?

»Aw God, that’s awful terrible Maria, and did you keep the receipt?«

an out of tune and slightly pained sounding Joe Duffy

a little too loud for liking in the background.

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Tea? Go on.

Rustling in cupboards wakes the dead.

Did you hear Mary’s Damien has your one pregnant?

No way.

Did you hear they're hiring in the post office?

Really!?

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Enough of that.

See who fancies a pint?

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Kavanagh’s.

The usual story, the bar is a trough, lined up with old cattle feeding.

Various feint grunts indicate displeasure or occasionally, approval.

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The lounge is completely barren.

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The boys are in the smoking area.

00.00 and that phone call has been made, you’re back to Baz’s back

gaf fighting over the auxiliary cable.

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There tearing new ones for people.

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Even if on the receiving end.

The deeper the cut the more you find yourself at home.